When I Say Run
by Baron Munchausen
Summary: Set in an unnamed country, Edith is a foreign correspondent for The Sketch. She is kidnapped and threatened with death by insurgents, but a tall man in black comes to her rescue.
1. From Our Own Correspondent

_**A/N: As you know, I withdrew this story out of respect after the murder of James Foley. I wasn't comfortable with the story being public until a decent interval had elapsed. Then another murder took place, then another.**_

_**What changed my mind and convinced me to finish the story was the attack on the Charlie Hebdo offices. I was humbled by the surviving journalists' determination to continue publishing in defiance of the violence and cruelty visited upon them. If they could manage it, then what right had I to choose not to? I had no excuse. I should do too.**_

_**So here it is. I haven't specified where this story takes place and have deliberately set it in the past, because A) it's about Anthony and Edith and not current events, and B) events in real life have escalated while I've been writing and I really didn't want to get into discussing them in the story. If I have any readers who have been affected by what's going on, I can only apologise and send you my sincerest solidarity. I hope you can find a little fictional relief here.**_

* * *

_._

**June 2005**

_The Poppies of the Battlefield _by our own Foreign Correspondent, Edith Crawley

"There are many victims of this war, some of them more commanding of our sympathy than others. There are the orphans and widows both here and in the home nations of the armies involved in the conflict. But there are also victims among those very armies. There are the young men, some of them as young as 12, or even younger, still mere boys, who have been dragooned into fighting for the insurgents. There are the women who have been kidnapped and pressed into serving as 'comfort women' for the insurgent soldiers. And there are the Western soldiers who have to face a fanatical enemy who honours no code of conduct in warfare except their own, and sometimes not even that. These brave men and women are facing a situation as brutal as that in any war, just more unpredictable and with an elusive, and unspecified, goal to call 'victory'.

Is it any wonder that they return home with PTSD?..."

Anthony read the whole article in _The Daily Sketch_ twice, three times before he could tear himself away from the print to wipe his eyes. He was so proud of her. He was also so angry with her for going in the first place, because he knew just how very dangerous it was, and he was afraid, in fact completely terrified, that any day now he would read very different headlines. Most of all, he blamed himself…she might not be in all that danger now if only he hadn't…

* * *

.

**August 2002**

He couldn't believe his eyes when he first saw her that bright summer afternoon. She was…all light and grace and beauty.

Robert Crawley, his neighbour and sort-of friend, had rung earlier in the week. His middle daughter, Edith, had graduated from Cambridge, and, despite Robert's disapproval, she was determined to secure a career in journalism. Job offers were hers for the taking from a number of Fleet Street dailies, and she had come home to Downton to think about which to accept.

"Come over to the garden party on Saturday, Anthony, would you?" Robert's voice was at its most patrician. "She's terribly keen to meet anyone who has had experience in the armed forces. And if you can, tell her the reality of what you and your colleagues had to go through, mmm? Perhaps it will put her off."

So it was that Anthony found himself sipping a Pimm's while strolling round Downton's immaculate lawns, trying to recognise a girl he'd last seen ten years ago, or failing that, trying to find anyone he thought he could bear to talk to. He'd already had the "What Ho! Jolly well done, old boy!" treatment from Colonel Henderson, who himself had never actually faced fire or stood on a battlefield in his life, climbing the ranks by a series of postings in the MoD in Whitehall.

Anthony kept away from anyone he knew disapproved of this so-called "War on Terror", just in case he gave offence. No, he scolded himself, it was cowardice in case he couldn't cope with their disapproval.

He'd given up trying to find Edith and was idly watching the fish swim around their pond rather to one side of the main garden party when he heard a quiet, gentle voice behind him call his name.

"Sir Anthony."

He turned and saw an angel. Dressed in cool, white linen, her golden hair streaked with sunshine, intense, dark eyes gazing up at him, it took him fully five seconds to realise who she was.

"Lady Edith! Goodness, I'm sorry. I didn't recognise you."

"It's been far too long. You still look well though" she answered politely.

He tried to gather his scattered wits.

"And you look…extremely well. Cambridge must have agreed with you."

"I suppose it did…Papa said that he'd invited you over. It's terribly nice of you to come, and let me interrogate you."

Anthony couldn't think of anything lovelier at that moment that being interrogated by Edith Crawley.

"My pleasure."

He indicated a bench and she came to sit by him, smiling.

It was a smile that melted his heart.

"Papa says you joined the Territorial Army after…after you lost Lady Strallan."

"Yes, something to do, to take my mind off it all, and, you know, be useful."

"Which regiment?"

"53 Military Intelligence Company based in Leeds."

"And you've served overseas?"

"Yes, I was called up for active service just after 9/11." The statement was the truth, but he'd never uttered it with such pride before. He wanted this madly wonderful young woman to think well of him, and she was looking up at him with the sort of admiration that he'd never experienced before. It was going to his head in the most intoxicating way.

"How long were you out there?"

"I've done one tour of duty…six months, although I expect to be sent out again in the not too distant future. The war is spreading eastwards…"

She asked more questions, which he was happy to answer. He thought it was all going so well, when her sister Mary came to fetch her.

"Oh, Sir Anthony. I didn't know you were coming" she exclaimed on seeing who was seated the other side of Edith.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Lady Mary" Anthony replied courteously standing in her presence.

"Not even to go play soldiers a bit more? Edith, Mama wants you to meet Cameron Murray, his brother is a publisher or something."

Edith stood looking embarrassed on behalf of her sister, as though _she_ had done something wrong. Anthony couldn't stand it.

"If you want to finish our discussion, Lady Edith, please call round sometime. Any time this week would be fine."

"Thank you, Major" she answered, giving him that wonderful smile again and taking his breath away with her beauty, her modesty, and her lightly worn research. He hadn't told her his rank.

_... ... ...  
_

Anthony slept little that night. He had never been so affected by a woman, not even by Maud who had been sweet and caring, and he'd loved her almost as he loved a sibling, which was also how she regarded him. Consequently, their attempts to beget an heir to the Strallan title had not been satisfying for either of them. In fact, they'd become acutely embarrassing.

But Edith…

In his forties, suddenly, Anthony had discovered what it truly meant to be in love. As a teenager, there had never been one girl in his thoughts for very long. His shyness ensured that he'd not asked any of them out, and none of them noticed him. He spent his undergraduate years happily studying, rowing, going to concerts, and making friends, and meeting Maud. She came to Anthony on the rebound from the one true love of her life who had dumped her in a most brutal fashion. Anthony was there for her, and being a chivalrous kind of man, just wanted to make her pain go away. When she began to want more than friendship, he went along with it. He could have done very much worse. He took the concept of duty very seriously for a young man, and was well aware of the burden that one day would lay on his shoulders to manage the Locksley estate and produce an heir.

When Maud had died of ovarian cancer, he had lost not only his wife, but also his best friend. He wasn't heartbroken in the conventional sense, but he found himself bereft, grieving, and extremely lonely. Within the year, he'd joined the Territorials as an Intelligence Officer. He made new friends, and enjoyed the training and manoeuvres. He'd never been sent into the field until asked to by Mr. Bush and Mr. Blair. What he'd seen then had changed him, he realised that. But he'd taken the Queen's Shilling, and duty was duty.

_... ... ..._

It was early afternoon the next day that Anthony answered the bell.

"Goodness, I'm…I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you to answer your own front door!" gasped Edith.

"Did you expect me to have a butler?" asked Anthony, pleased by her reaction to his being 'normal', and even more pleased that she had come to visit so soon.

"Why not? Papa does!"

"Your Papa is somewhat grander than I am. Please, come in."

Anthony took her through to the library.

"Would you like a cup of something?" he asked hospitably.

"Only if you're having one." She smiled at him, and at the bookshelves. He smiled because she smiled.

"I won't be a tick" he said, walking in long but purposeful strides down to the kitchen.

_I really must try to remember that she's only here to ask about the TA. For God's sake, man, get a grip! She's hardly going to fancy a widower in his forties._

Nevertheless, he still looked at himself in the hall mirror to make sure that he was presentable before he returned to the library. Edith looked round from flicking through an eighteenth-century treatise.

"Your library is amazing!"

"Thank you, but surely it isn't a patch on Downton's?"

"No one ever uses Downton's…except me. There's nothing of such interest there. They were bought by the yard, not selectively chosen like yours. You obviously really love books."

"A weakness inherited from my father." Anthony watched her entranced expression with fondness.

She took her mug of tea from him, sipped it, and said how good it was, before tackling the real reason for her visit.

"Papa keeps saying that I must not go into journalism, that it is a dangerous profession, and 'not one becoming a lady in my position'…his words. And Granny, of course, agrees with him, only in more forthright terms."

"They have a point about the danger…that is, if you intend to become a foreign correspondent. But I consider his view of women in the professions…rather outdated. There are plenty of women in the Intelligence Unit and damned good they are too."

Edith sighed. "I _knew_ you would understand."

"What does your mother think?"

"She's not over the moon, but is more supportive of me doing something I want to do. I just get the feeling that she would prefer me to write for _Vogue_! But I really can't understand the worth of journalism if it doesn't report what's going on in the world and bears witness to injustice. That has to be its main duty!"

Edith was so passionate, and had principles that chimed so well with his own, that he felt himself fall just a little farther in love.

"Then you must do it. Do whatever you feel you must do, and be true to yourself."

In her gratitude to this charming, brave, modest, and most proper of gentlemen, whom she found so very attractive, she reached up and kissed his cheek.

And that was it: he was done for.

Anthony took her for a drive in his vintage Rolls-Royce later that afternoon. By the end of that first week he had taken her to York for a concert. On the way back, in the moonlight, his feelings had overpowered his propriety and he had kissed her shyly. He was in ecstasy when she pulled him closer and kissed him back. After another week, he had proposed, and she had accepted. They planned to wed in a month, much to Robert and Violet's violent disapproval, which they didn't keep from him.

After sleepless nights and internal arguments back and forth and, yes, even tears, Anthony had turned up to Downton Church on that fateful morning, to stop Edith and her father on the way in. Robert excused himself, and nodded at Anthony. It was meant to be encouraging, approving of what Anthony was about to do. To Anthony it felt like the nod of an executioner.

Anthony's excuses felt feeble once he'd said them out loud. Edith's bewilderment then disbelief and finally tears unmanned him and he wept too. When she told him she loved him more than anything and she couldn't go on without him, he couldn't cope, and walked away out of the churchyard, and out of her life.

He'd gone home to Locksley, changed his clothes, then headed straight for Leeds. Within ten days he was back on the front line. Within five months, he'd been caught in an ambush, gunned down, and left for dead…which is really what he wanted to be.

* * *

.

**July 2005**

Anthony still had friends in the army. They told him what he needed to know, and issued a few orders to assist him in travelling out to the warzone. He packed lightly, but strategically. Most of the equipment he would need he would have to buy on the black market once he got there.

The last thing he packed was that morning's edition of _The Daily Sketch_ blaring its banner headlines:

_THE DAILY SKETCH'S WAR CORRESPONDENT TAKEN HOSTAGE_

_Horrific internet video shows Edith Crawley held by insurgents_

_Sketch Editor and Edith's fiancé, Michael Gregson, inconsolable_


	2. When I Say Run

**July 2005**

Like a dream, it didn't seem real.

But it was.

She had been staying in a house belonging to a contact, someone she knew she could trust. One night, she'd been woken in the small hours by a commotion and a shot much closer than the usual casual gunfire that one got used to in this city. Before she had time to think about the best course of action, there were three men in her room their faces hidden by scarves. She saw her contact lying face down beyond them. They bound her hands, put a hood over her head, and drove her away, finally unloading her somewhere she knew was colder than the middle of the city, and pushing her down some stone stairs.

After a while, the hood was taken from her head, and she found she was in a basement. A man with a camera was filming her. Another man behind her started to shout at the camera. Edith knew from the voice that he was one of the more rabidly fundamentalist, maverick insurgents. He delivered twenty minutes of invective to the camera over her bowed head. Once that was done, she was left alone for several days, she lost count how many, with only a single visit a day from one of the guards giving her some hard, maggoty bread.

The seriousness of her situation was not lost on her, but she hoped against hope that the purpose of taking her was to put an end to her reports, and possibly to use her as a bargaining chip. Deep down she feared that an example was to be made of her.

_... ... ..._

The sand was cold. At this early hour the chill of the desert night still dug its claws into her knees from the ground. Edith hated the cold. It reminded her of winters at Downton, an ancestral pile so large, and so badly plumbed, it could never be heated properly.

She dimly thought "I don't want to die cold", her fear freezing all other feelings and thoughts, other than the dread of the cold blade. She'd been driven out to this remote place in the middle of the night, and as soon as dawn broke, she was pushed out of the jeep and on to the ground in front of a man, taller and broader than all the rest, clothed head to foot in black robes, holding a huge, curved sword in his left hand.

Apart from the executioner himself, there were only two guards present, one of them fumbling with a camera, and the mad orator.

Her last, scattered thoughts veered from detached to despairing.

_This would have made a great story if I could have written it up._

_Granny will be so disappointed in me bringing shame on the family._

_Michael knew this would happen – no don't think that!_

Then suddenly one image stood out from all other thoughts.

"Anthony!"

She'd tried not to think about him. The emotions her ex-fiancé inspired in her were the most uncontrollable of all. But now, at the end, she found that only thoughts of him could help her die with dignity. Only he could help her face this.

She'd said his name aloud, the only word she had uttered in her captivity. The executioner, standing in front of her, heard it, started as if shocked, and stared at her intently, though she didn't see it. She was too absorbed remembering Anthony's eyes, his smile, his gentle laugh, the warmth of his embraces, how besotted he had seemed to be when he looked at her, how much she had loved him.

"Oh Anthony!"

If he hadn't walked away from their wedding, meeting her outside of the church in his uniform, looking so goddamned handsome, to try to excuse the inexcusable, to explain to her that they hardly knew one another, that he was too old for her, that she should have the chance to live life…if only he'd married her, she wouldn't be here now, facing a grotesque, medieval death.

All Edith's despair at, frustration with, and love for, that maddening, noble, beautiful, and misguided man overwhelmed her. Only he and his love could help her meet this fate bravely.

"My Anthony!"

The guard finally seemed satisfied with the camera, the orator began another diatribe that she knew would end with her decapitation, a video posted on the web, and a smattering of futile condemnations by eviscerated Western politicians. After which she would be forgotten.

Edith thought of Anthony, and in his sapphire blue eyes she found the courage to kneel straight and upright, holding her head high. She heard the headsman sigh, almost as though he admired her bravery.

He raised his sword.

She heard Anthony's voice say "When I say run, run…straight past me and keep going to the rocks and take cover. I'll join you."

Her eyes widened. Unsure whether she had really heard it, or whether she was hallucinating, she heard herself say "Vatican cameos?" Most of his face was covered by his headdress, but she saw the corners of his blue eyes crease into a smile of amusement at her knowledge of the term as he nodded slowly.

The orator finished and nodded to the man in black, who took up his position.

There was a heart beat's pause.

He whispered "Run!"

Edith ran past Anthony as fast as she could. Just as he said, there was a rocky outcrop illuminated by the red dawn light ahead of her. She heard the stutter of gunfire behind her back. Once she'd reached the rocks she took shelter behind them and risked a glance.

The tall man stood still, the sword on the ground at his feet, and a machine pistol smoking in his left hand. The insurgents lay lifeless around him. He stooped to pick up the camera taking out the card and smashing it, before he walked to Edith.

She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck ignoring the machine-gun still hanging from his shoulder on its strap, the relief sweeping over her in a wave of jumbled emotions.

"Anthony!"

She felt him hugging her to him but only with one arm, and his robe wet against her cheek and realised she had been weeping.

"You saved me!"

"You can say that once you're safely back in England. We're not out of the woods yet."

"But you came…"

"Of course I did, sweet one. Shh."

He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly until the shock wore off a little. Then he released her gently with an embarrassed cough.

"Did they, er, mistreat you?" he whispered.

"They didn't rape me, if that's what you're asking. But I've not eaten much."

A voice at the back of her head screamed _The man you love has just saved your life, and you're discussing __food__?!_

"We need to get you to the British Embassy over the border. Flights are still going back to London from over there. Are you up to walking?"

"Why can't we take their jeep?" she asked. She was only just following Anthony's words, as she struggled with her shocked nerves and confused heart.

"Because I can't drive with one arm, and a woman driving would certainly attract attention. And talking of attention, someone is going to miss these three soon. We should be getting going."

"Yes, Major" she answered in half a joke, and half a complaint about his issuing orders, even as her head swam.

"Don't call me that" said Anthony, with more regret than annoyance. Looking at her again, he walked back to the bodies of the insurgents and chose a robe.

"Here, use this as a burqa."

"It has blood on it" she stated flatly.

"It's the one with the least blood on it. We can't risk anyone recognising you, and it'll stop you getting sun-burned" he replied gently.

He took out a GPS and took a reading, then looked at his watch.

"Edith, I'm really sorry to have to ask you to walk in the heat of day right after you've been through…all that. But we really must try to get ahead of them. I know they will come looking for us. They will want revenge on their comrades' killer, if nothing else."

Edith nodded, the notion that Anthony was a killer jarring despite the evidence in front of her. _He's a Major in the British Army. He's not a murderer._ She gave up trying to keep up with what was happening, all of a sudden so tired and so very pleased that someone else was taking charge and making the decisions. Once she'd got the cloth looking something like a burqa, she asked Anthony whether it would do.

"Yes, my dear, you're doing brilliantly. We're aiming for those hills, okay?"

"Okay."

They started walking toward the rising sun, to the hills beyond the desert, Edith trying to make sense of the events of the last five minutes. Chief among her questions was _Why can he only use one arm?_


	3. A Tiger Poised To Attack

They walked over the desert towards the hills for twenty minutes in silence, with Anthony keeping a discreet eye on her to make sure she was still doing alright. He stopped when they reached the rock field at the bottom of the hills, finding a bit of shadow to give them a break from the sun, and some protection against anyone looking for them.

"Water?" He offered her a drinking bottle drawn from a pocket in his robes.

"It's good, clean water" he added noting her hesitation. She took it, saying "Thank you" and sipped her first taste of pure water for over a week.

"Did the army send you?" she asked abruptly, still needing to process recent events.

He frowned and shook his head.

"No. No, I came off my own bat."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I didn't know when I got here, but I knew how to find out. I pulled in every favour, and every string I could to find out which group was holding you, and where they were. The most difficult thing was to be introduced to them as an experienced headsman by people they trusted so they would accept me, but even that's possible if you know the right people, have enough money, and are, on average, a foot taller than most men in the vicinity."

They both considered this.

"How was my abduction reported…back home?"

It was a coded question. She didn't know whether Anthony knew about Michael or not.

"It was headline news the day after you disappeared. Every newspaper, internet bulletin, radio, and television station. I'm afraid I didn't really follow it after that, because I was here, looking for you."

"How did you get here so fast?"

"I emotionally blackmailed my old Colonel for passage on a transport flight direct from RAF Brize Norton."

"Why…?"

"No more questions for the moment, my dear. You're still coping wonderfully well, and I don't want to put that in danger, especially not while we climb this hillside and are still easy to spot by anyone out on the desert. Once we are over the crest and on the plain above, I promise I will answer all your questions."

He stood up, offered her his left hand to assist her, and made a start finding the easiest route up the rocky hillside.

_... ... ..._

About an hour later, they heard the engine of another jeep in the distance below them. Anthony caught her hand and scrambled to the cover of an overhanging rock, then drew a pair of small, high-specification binoculars from his robes and peered through them, watching the newcomers.

"They've found the bodies" he said to her in a low voice. "They're loading them back onto the first jeep, and one of them is driving them away. That's good. We've got one fewer to deal with."

"Do we have to deal with them at all?" Edith asked in panic. Anthony lowered his field glasses and looked at her sadly.

"Yes, dearest, we do, or rather, _I_ do." He raised the binoculars again. "There's four of them now. One of them is following our tracks and indicating which way to go to the others in the other jeep. We have to do something."

Watching fear crease her face, he put out his hand to reassure her.

"Edith, sweetheart, I will do everything in my power to make sure they don't get hold of you again. Listen. Look at me and listen to my voice." He waited until she did, holding her tears at bay.

"We have the advantage that we know where they are, and they don't know where we are."

"Will you shoot them?" He became stony-faced at her question.

"Not if I can help it. I propose that we stay hidden around here." He looked about him. "There's a bit of a cave, well, not really a cave but an indent in the rock over there. If any of them find us, well…I'll deal with that if it happens."

"Can't you pick them off now?"

"No, dearest. I have a machine pistol and a handgun. Nothing else. I'd need a sniper rifle to hit them at this distance. Come on, sweet one, we could both do with a rest, even if it is enforced."

They walked very quietly to the fissure in the rock-face, keeping low, and squeezed through. It was very dark, quite small, but much cooler in there.

"This is better than I was hoping" said Anthony. "They'll actually have to try and get in through the crack to see if we're here, and by that time I will have dealt with them."

"Won't the others hear and come and find us?" she asked still terrified.

"Not the way I'm going to do it, no" he asserted, grimly. He sat on the stone floor and brought out a handgun and a silencer and proceeded to assemble them.

Below, the jeep engine cut out, and Anthony looked up at Edith.

"That means they've got to the bottom of the rock field. They'll have to climb now, and there won't be any tracks to speak of to follow on the rocks. It'll be sheer chance if any of them come this way."

He looked at her cowering, hugging her knees.

"You look done in, Edith. Why don't you try to sleep for a bit?"

"While there are men out there who are searching for me to kill me?" She hissed at him in disbelief.

"Sorry. I sometimes forget that us army types aren't normal. But here's a little trick I was taught. Close your eyes, breathe in for the count of three, hold it for three, and breathe out for three. You'll be better able to cope when we have to move again if you rest even a little. Concentrate on your breathing, and leave our pursuers to me, okay?"

"I'll…I'll try."

"You always were the bravest woman I'd ever known, Edith. I thought that this morning when I saw how you held yourself in the face of the…the nightmarish ghastliness, which you then thought inevitable. You were fantastic." He said it quietly, but with the emotion clear in his voice.

She smiled, just a little, and then went back to the breathing exercise. Despite her fears it did help her keep the panic at bay.

When she opened her eyes she saw that Anthony had taken up position just inside the fissure, to one side. In his black robes he was almost invisible. He stayed there on guard for the rest of the morning, waiting, watching.

A shadow crossed the entrance to their hiding place.

Anthony didn't move, but Edith could sense his readiness, like a tiger poised to attack. The shadow moved forward, to one side and back again, and then moved on. Anthony gave it a full ten minutes before he crawled to Edith's side to whisper.

"I think they must have moved on, but we will have to wait until they go back to the jeep, just to make sure."

Edith nodded her understanding, and watched as he went back to his sentry position. After that she had difficulty calming herself down again, and instead tried to distract herself by watching Anthony.

There were still so many questions. _Why had he come for her? Where was Michael? What had Michael done to try to save her? Why didn't Anthony want to be called by his title any more?_

She had never seen him doing his job as an officer. She wasn't surprised to find that he was so expert. It comforted her just to have him there, to know that he was protecting her. The contrast with what Michael had done, encouraging her to take this posting and utterly discounting the danger, was so extreme. Her anger with her editor flowed over her.

In a strange way, it felt good to be justifiably angry at someone, even if he was a thousand miles away. It was better than feeling hunted.

Without warning there were shouts outside, the jeep was fired up, and was driven away.

Anthony motioned to her to keep back and quiet, while he waited in case it was a trap to flush them out. When he heard nothing more, he took off his headdress, and cautiously leaned out through the crack in the rock. Edith saw his blonde hair, almost the same colour as the rocks and, for the first time, noticed that he had a week's growth of beard. He looked so different from the proper English gentleman she'd fallen for.

Still looking through his binoculars, he said "There's four of them in that jeep. They haven't left anyone to lie in wait for us to come out of hiding."

He slipped back inside.

"Do you feel up to trying to get up the rest of this hill?"

She was taken aback by his confidence.

"Do you really think we're going to make it?"

Anthony's smile faded, and he came to stand in front of her solemnly.

"I promise you I shall do everything in my power to get you home safely. Everything."

He meant it. She could see it. And she believed him. She smiled at him.

"I will get you home and return you to your family…and to your fiancé."

She looked away. So he did know.


	4. An Ex-Major

It took them the rest of the daylight hours to climb to the top. Edith seemed to be getting slower and slower, and Anthony worried about her.

As they neared the summit Anthony sprinted ahead to check all was clear and to choose the best place to rest for the night. He returned to lead Edith over the last outcrop and sat her down where he'd spread his robes out for her.

Once she'd got her breath back she ran her hand over the cloth she was sitting on. Anthony's robes were lined shoulder to hem with pockets of varying sizes. She glanced up at him questioning.

"It's easier to carry equipment this way, without advertising the fact, especially with the arm, you know."

"No, Anthony. I don't know. What's wrong with it?"

"No one told you? Oh God…"

"Told me what, Anthony?" She was looking ever more upset and he knew he would have to tell her.

He opened one pocket and brought out a couple of solid ration bars.

"Dinner, m'lady?"

She relaxed a little and gave him a small grin, but the food tasted heavenly after a week without. The sun had set and the moon had risen.

"You haven't answered my question."

"No. I'm…I'm trying to find where to begin."

"Try starting from the last time I saw you" she said, bluntly.

"I was afraid you'd say that" he said with a wince. He looked at her and gave a deep sigh. "After I left you at the church, well, I wasn't thinking straight. Dear God, I'd just thrown away my chance of taking the most beautiful woman in the world as my bride. I was desperate, despairing, I admit it. I rejoined my unit and threw myself into my work. When I was sent back out here, I was glad. I needed to be immersed in something else. One day on a routine patrol my unit was ambushed. We all got pretty badly shot up. Not all of us made it. I was lucky. I recovered with just my right arm knocked out."

She was so shocked, she forgot she was going to ask more about the day at the church.

"Not forever, surely?"

"I'm afraid so. It's paralysed from the shoulder. I was invalided out of the army. So you see, I'm an ex-Major."

He took a bite and munched thoughtfully.

"Which means what I did back there wasn't covered by the Geneva Conventions, and was common murder, pure and simple."

"No!" she cried. "You risked your life to save me. That can't be called murder."

He smiled sadly at her, but looked down unconvinced. Edith looked up at the cold stars…masses of them shining like lasers this far from civilisation. She shivered.

"Do you have anything in your one-man-army supplies to light a fire?"

"No fires, I'm afraid. It'll lead them right to us if there's anyone still looking, now or in the morning, since we won't be able to disguise the cinders.

"So how are we going to stop ourselves freezing to death?" The cold was pressing into Edith and bringing her insecurities and fears to the surface.

"It will get cold, but not that cold" Anthony smiled understandingly. "Wrap your robes and mine around you…and I've a chemical heat pad which will help."

He found it and activated it for her, and she cuddled it like a small child, though she was visibly relaxing.

"Here, have my headdress as a pillow. Is that warmer? Comfy enough?"

"Yes, thank you. What about you?"

"I'm used to it, but thank you for thinking of me. Now, why don't you watch the stars and relax? I'll tell you the constellations. They look different in England."

Within a few minutes, feeling more snug and safe than she had in several months, Edith fell asleep.

Anthony sat up and looked at her, then scanned the horizon for signs of anyone tracking them, then indulged in staring longingly at the woman he loved.

He repeated the pattern until dawn.

_... ... ..._

They'd had Kendal Mint Cake for breakfast, but Edith wasn't complaining. She felt so much better for a sleep, that she thought she could face anything now, especially with Anthony with her.

They walked side by side, Anthony checking the GPS occasionally.

"Anthony?"

"Yes" he answered with a gentle smile.

"I'm sorry I was grouchy last night."

"Good grief, you had every right. Kidnap, starvation, almost execution, manhunt, and route march. I thought you were amazingly stiff-upper-lipped, considering."

His smile broadened.

"And I'm sorry I didn't know about your injury." He tried to wave that away too, but it was obvious to her that it had stung. She had to say this.

"The truth is your name was just never mentioned in front of me. I think they all thought I'd fall apart if they did. I wanted to come round to Locksley to find out what really caused you to…to jilt me, but Papa and Granny forced Dr. Clarkson to keep me sedated for the first few days, so by the time I did get to Locksley, you'd left. Eventually Kate Gervis told me you'd returned to your regiment and that was that."

She could see he wanted to say something, but it took all his control to stop his voice breaking. He coughed, and tried again.

"Thank you, Edith. Thank you for trying to give me another chance. But I meant what I said that day…that you should not want to tie yourself to an old has-been and bury your youth and vitality in deepest Yorkshire. And, thank God, you haven't. You've carved out a marvellous life for yourself, found yourself a way to proclaim sanity and humanity amongst the mayhem and madness of these last few years. I am so very proud of you" he smiled adoringly at her for a moment, then sighed sadly and added "Not that I have any right to be."

Edith could've screamed in frustration.

"And old has-been who is quite capable of infiltrating an insurgent unit, tackling them, and rescuing me! We'd had this conversation dozens of times, Anthony! Why wait until we were outside the church?"

* * *

.

**August 2002**

"Lady Grantham, please come in" Anthony smiled at his soon to be in-law. He liked the old battleaxe despite her rather disconcerting habit of pointing out the difference between his and his fiancée's ages.

"At least you remember the proper titles for people, Sir Anthony" she declaimed as she made herself comfortable in his drawing room.

"Would you like to take some tea?"

"I don't suppose you will want me here any longer than necessary."

"Not at all. I'm very happy to see you, Lady Grantham. What can I do for you?" Anthony replied, putting all his old-fashioned manners on show for her benefit.

"You can stop this ridiculous charade!" Her voice became uncontrolled for just a moment. "Edith is absurdly young for marriage. She spent all her time at Cambridge studying, she hasn't had a boyfriend before, and she's just got a crush on the first half-decent courteous man she meets. And you! You are old enough to know better, and are too old by half for any girl Edith's age, let alone a woman as remarkable as Edith."

Anthony was too stunned and too hurt to reply.

"If you marry her, you will ruin her life. Is that what you want? Because, believe it or not, I think you actually do love her. The kindest thing you could do is let her down gently before this goes any further. You're sensible, and you're a soldier; do the right thing."

_... ... ..._

If that hadn't been enough, Robert took him aside after dinner, later in the day.

"You've only known each other properly for, what, five weeks? The girl's only just graduated. She has her whole life ahead of her…or at least, she did until she met you. I know you've been flattered by her attentions, old man, any man in his right mind would be. But I know I can count on your sense of duty, because you are an honourable man. Let the girl enjoy her youth and live her life as she's meant to. It will be the best proof you can provide that you do love her."

* * *

.

**July 2005**

Anthony looked at Edith and her anger and disappointment tore him apart.

"Why, Anthony? Why?"

"Because you wouldn't listen to my concerns."

"Because I loved you and your concerns didn't worry me!"

"But they should have worried you!"

"Said who?"

"Your father and grandmother…as well as me."

Immediately Edith was silenced. She looked at Anthony, finally faced with the truth.

"What?" she breathed.

"I shouldn't have told you. I promised them both I'd never tell you, but I don't suppose it matters now. Lady Grantham came to Locksley, and Robert cornered me after dinner one night in the week before the wedding. But they said the same thing: that I should leave you and that was the only way I could prove that I really loved you. They both intimated that if I did marry you, then we would not be welcome back to Downton, but I'm sure that was a threat, and that it was really just aimed at me. What could I do, Edith? I couldn't force you to choose between me and your family."

All the hot anger seemed to have drained out of her to be replaced by a steely coldness as she found it oh so easy to imagine her father and grandmother using Anthony's honour and love as weapons against him.

"No, Anthony. I understand now the sort of pressures you were under. It wasn't your fault."

"It was though. I should not have shown how far I'd fallen for you in those few weeks. I should have held back and allowed you to go your way without me holding you back."

"Anthony! I was not a love-struck teenager. I was a woman in my twenties who knew what love was, and who knew what she wanted. And what I wanted was you! You were…everything I'd ever wanted…" _And you still are._

"But now you have Michael who's a much better fit for you, I'm sure. What happened between us, our engagement, it's all in the past, and I wish you well."

Edith didn't answer. Another coldness had engulfed her at the mention of Michael. She walked in silence for the next half hour, thinking.


	5. Every Hour Of Every Day

They stopped for a rest and a drink of water. Edith looked at Anthony. He was still the same kind, gentle gentleman that she'd fallen in love with, but he was also a trained soldier. Of course he had been since before she knew him, but she'd never truly seen it before. She'd had mixed feelings about it when they were engaged, but since her abduction when she was brought face to face with evil, she had changed her mind. Some force was necessary to protect the innocent in the world, but it should be tempered with the sort of righteousness and fairness and…yes, compassion that Anthony had. Civilians really didn't know the half of it. When she wrote her next column…

She decided to ask Anthony the question she had been carefully framing in her mind.

"Anthony, from your knowledge of the region, how do you think the insurgents knew where to find me?"

"Where were you exactly when they took you?"

"At a safe house, the home of Mehmet al-Fadeh, my contact."

"I don't know the name, so he must be very good or very new or…"

"He was very good: very good at his job, and a good man. He'd looked after the previous _Sketch_ correspondents. He was killed in the raid."

"I'm sorry. It sounds, from what you say, as though someone else knew you were there and informed the insurgents" Anthony concluded. "Perhaps someone who knew Mehmet and wanted him out of the way, or someone who informed for money."

"It can't be. Mehmet knew the dangers and so kept few friends. He wouldn't have told anyone about me."

"Someone else must have known you were there."

"The only other person in the whole world who knew…was Michael Gregson."

Anthony stared at her, struck dumb, frowning in disbelief.

"No, it couldn't have been him. He's engaged to you."

"He was adamant that I take this posting, to the point of blackmailing me" Edith went on. "He said my writing for the _Sketch_ depended on it. He said that there was little or no danger, and that it would be the making of me and my reputation."

"Perhaps he was just naïve…"

"Don't make excuses for him, Anthony. He knew the posting was dangerous, that's why he sent me. You see, I had been doing a bit of investigative journalism of my own into his background. There was something that just didn't add up. I didn't have the evidence to back up what I'd been told was true before I came out here, so I didn't confront him, but I think he must have suspected I knew. It seems Michael Gregson is already married."

"What?!"

"She's an American and a devout Catholic who won't agree to a divorce. Think of it from his point of view: he's somehow got himself engaged to an Earl's daughter, probably because she won't let him get near her without some sort of promise and his libido is not something he's about to try to control. He's like that: he has to have his conquest, and he won't take 'no' for an answer. But now he's had his fun, and he's got to extricate himself, because marrying me would be bigamy. Something like that would be bound to come out sooner or later and that would be the end of his career. The same would happen if he broke off the engagement: Papa would make sure he had the greatest difficulty keeping a job. The first wife is untouchable. But he can send the fiancée to a war zone and tip off some very upset fanatics and leave the rest to them. And just like that, he's got out of the fix and won all the public sympathy to boot."

"My God!" whispered Anthony. "Look, please try not to brood on this now. It'll only hurt. You can't take it any further here, and we must try to stay focussed on getting to the British Embassy and back home. But when we are back in England, if you want me to, I promise you I will help you get to the bottom of this one way or the other. And if he did it, I give you my word that I shall not rest until he answers for it, one way or another."

His face was so determined and his eyes shone with such a cold anger that Edith was very glad that Anthony Strallan was on her side.

...

Edith found walking in silence with Anthony disconcerting in the extreme. It wasn't that he was bad company. She found that it was very easy to remember the comfortable silences that they had shared before. No, it was her reaction to him that made her feel uncomfortable. Despite his mildness and gentle manner, he exuded masculinity through his build and his quiet command. The effect on Edith was multiplied by his expertise in the field, and knowing he was armed and knew how to use his weapons (but didn't tote them like some Hollywood action hero). Add to this the effect that his sapphire blue eyes had always had on her, and Edith felt overwhelmed.

Michael had never possessed the innate magnetism of a male for her. He had been charming, and he had seemed to believe in her abilities as a writer. That had been enough for her when she was still sore and broken-hearted after Anthony jilted her.

In contrast to Anthony's gentlemanly grace and animal attraction, Edith felt herself feminine, shorter and weaker than he…and protected by him. No other man had ever made her feel so cherished. She knew it would take only the slightest attempt by Anthony to rekindle their relationship and she would collapse like a house of cards, physically and emotionally.

What really frightened her was that she was constantly watching Anthony _hoping_ that he would make a move to try to court her (he wouldn't do anything as crass and indecisive as just flirting). And this was on top of the fact that, officially at least, she was engaged to another man.

The sun was setting as they neared the edge of the long pass. Standing at the top of a steep path down, as it joined the mountain range, through the binoculars Anthony pointed out the road to the city far below them.

"When we get down there, we'll walk along the road until we can hitch a lift into the city centre. The all we have to do is get to the British Embassy and convince them that you really are Lady Edith Crawley."

"So what are we waiting for?" Edith was relieved and excited that they were so near the end of this long walk at last. Anthony placed a firm hand on her arm.

"We are waiting because in ten minutes it will be completely dark, the path down to the road must be a mile and a bit and a steep 1,000 feet in descent, and we are both tired. I don't want to risk a sprained ankle or a broken leg, since neither of us can carry the other! I think we'll do better in daylight after a rest, don't you, even though it is frustrating."

Despite her eagerness, Edith yawned and had to agree. They made the best of it and settled down to their meal of ration bars.

"Anthony?"

"Yes."

"I'm very grateful."

"You're welcome."

"Not just for the food: for coming and rescuing me."

"I know."

Edith rolled her eyes at his modesty.

"Don't fob it off as though you'd given me a cup of tea. You came out here to this war zone and faced death and God knows what ghosts and demons you must suffer from the ambush, just to save my life. Thank you."

Anthony smiled at her in a slightly embarrassed way but said nothing.

"And I'm glad it was you. I would have been grateful to anyone who got me out of this mess but, well, I'm glad it was you."

Anthony didn't even smile this time, he just stared at her with a pained frown.

"Thank you, Edith."

"Anthony, don't you ever wonder what it would have been like if we had married?" He looked away and swallowed hard before answering in a voice that made her feel sorry she'd asked the question.

"Every hour of every day."

Signalling the end of the conversation, he reached into his robes for another heat pad for her, only to find that his last one was useless having been activated already, probably while he was squeezing in and out of the rocks.

"I'm sure I can cope for one night" Edith wanted to show Anthony that she wasn't just a spoilt little rich girl, and that she could rough it when needed. She started to lie down for the night.

"If…if you like we could huddle together wrapping my robes around us both. I believe I can act as an acceptable hot water bottle." He smiled sheepishly, then added quickly "You don't have to. It's just a thought."

"I would like that very much." Edith couldn't believe she'd said that so blatantly.

Deliberately not over thinking what he was about to do, Anthony shuffled out of his robes, sat beside her and then drew the cloth over them like a sheet. With his headdress as a pillow again, Edith snuggled her back up to Anthony's broad chest while he tucked the robes around them.

Anthony breathed in her feminine scent and cuddled her a little closer with his good arm, while his heart ached and a single tear fled down into his beard.

_Every hour of every day, my sweet one…_


	6. I'm A Bastard

**_Thank you so much for all your reviews and messages of support. I hope this is to your liking._**

**_TRIGGER/PHOBIA WARNING...a creepy crawly makes a very brief appearance in this chapter._**

* * *

...

When Edith woke, in the half light before dawn, she felt another person next to her, cuddling her. It had been a long time since this had happened with a man she truly loved, and it was the same man now. To think that Anthony still wanted to be with her, just be with her...it made her smile so broadly it almost hurt. Her heart ached to think that he had loved her all this time. _Well, this time, Sir Anthony Strallan, I am not going to let you get away!_

She felt him playing lightly with her arm, and almost patted his hand, but instead let him continue until it became too ticklish to stand.

"I didn't know you could be such a tease, Anthony" she whispered.

Anthony stirred. After several days and nights without sleep, he had finally succumbed around five in the morning, at last sure that he could do so without undue risk. He was still a bit sleepy and cuddled Edith closer to him.

Edith felt the hug and melted into it a little more. Then she thought _He said he could only use one arm. If he's hugging me, what's tickling my arm?_

She looked down at her forearm and saw on it the biggest, blackest scorpion she had ever seen.

Her whole body went ice cold and she couldn't move for terror, but she found enough courage to call gently to Anthony without too much panic.

"Anthony, don't move. There's a scorpion on my left arm."

He was instantly awake, assessing options and taking charge of the situation.

"Hold very still. He's probably only sitting on you to keep warm." He reached inside his boot carefully and drew out a long-bladed knife, and softly placed it underneath the scorpion's belly, then powerfully flicked it away. The whole operation had taken less than three seconds. The animal was thrown six feet and skittered away from them into the rocks.

Edith jumped up searching for other creepy crawlies, and began to shake, the panic rising with the tears. Instantly, Anthony was at her side, his good arm around her shoulders, his hand rubbing her gently, comfortingly. She hugged him close, gripping on to his solid, reassuring presence.

"Shh, it's alright. Things like that are pretty rare, even out here in the desert. There won't be another one on you. Have a good cry. It'll help. You've been through a lot. Shh. My Edith, my brave Edith, my love. Shh."

Gradually Edith calmed, but Anthony didn't let go. And neither did she.

They stood in the quiet of the desert dawn holding each other, refusing to break the spell. In time, Edith turned her head away from Anthony's shoulder and towards his face, hoping he would know what she needed.

Anthony, his heart racing, fought against the urge which had been constant in him ever since he'd first seen her again. But with Edith's beautiful, desirous, yet vulnerable face gazing up at him, he finally succumbed. He lent down and kissed her.

It was a soft kiss, undemanding and tentative, fearing that she might pull away in disgust at any moment. But she didn't. She wanted him to kiss her, her hands stroking him possessively as they moved from around his waist up his chest and around his neck, her mouth moving against his. He'd yearned for this for years, ever since that dreadful day at the church. It was both an affirmation of love, and forgiveness for past mistakes. He hugged her ever closer as confidence in themselves and each other returned. Her tongue whispered over his lips and he opened to her gratefully, rapidly losing everything to the feeling of Edith once again in his embrace.

"My darling…my sweet one…"

"Anthony…"

The kiss deepened and became fiery, with absolutely no room left between their bodies. Anthony couldn't believe that his lovely Edith was once again in his embrace, wanted to be in his embrace despite everything he had done to her.

Then he stood back.

"I'm so sorry, Edith. That was…really bad of me."

"What was? Kissing me? I did ask for it."

"And I took advantage of your vulnerability. You wouldn't have asked for it if we were in a normal situation. If we were in a normal situation, I doubt whether you'd want anything to do with me, apart from a well-deserved slap in the face."

"But Anthony…"

"I jilted you, and now you're engaged to another man. I'm a bastard, but I…I couldn't help it, Edith. I wanted to kiss you so much…sorry, sorry. I'm just making it worse. We should just get you home, and then you needn't ever see me again."

He leaned down to pick up his robe, heard a whistle just over his bent head, and a bullet ricocheted off the boulder behind him.

Like lightning, he had his robe in his hand, and barrelled into Edith pushing her behind the boulders at the top of the path down to the town.

"Bugger! I knew they hadn't given up" he cursed, knowing that if he'd agreed with Edith to go down the path last night, they'd be safe now.

He risked a glance but immediately pulled his head back to safety. He took the pistol, still with its silencer, and put his headdress on it. When he lifted it above the rocks, it was peppered with bullets. He looked at Edith.

"I think there's about six of them, and they are well armed."

Edith pulled herself up to the mark. She didn't want Anthony thinking she was no more than just a terrified civilian, not after what they'd just shared.

"What do we do now? Tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you to get down this path to the road and then into town to the British Embassy as quickly as possible and tell them what's happened. I'll join you when I've…finished here. Just remember to keep your head down."

Edith nodded, got up to go, and then turned back.

"Anthony, you _are_ coming, aren't you?"

His hesitation was all she needed.

"No! I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself. We stick together!"

Anthony had retrieved his machine pistol and two spare clips from the folds of his robes. He found a small gap between the rocks at ground level and let off a short burst as cover.

"That will show them we mean business."

"I mean it Anthony! Give me the pistol and we'll do this together."

Anthony turned and put his hand up to her face, as though nothing else as important was going on around them.

"Listen to me, sweet one. We're lost. If you stay here with me, we will run out of ammunition before they do, and then we'll be sitting ducks. If we both make a run for it down the path, they will realise we're not returning fire and they'll pick us off before we can get anywhere near safety. But if I hold them here, and you run for the town, then at least one of us gets out of this alive. Please, Edith. _Please!_ Don't let me fail you again. I want to manage to do right by you, at least once in my life. Let me do this in my own way." He gave a sad smile. "It really is all my life is worth now."

Edith shook away the tears, but she knew that Anthony was right. She reached up and kissed him desperately.

"I love you, Anthony."

"And I love you, my Edith. I always have."

He kissed her again, knowing it would be their last.

"Now go. Go!"

He spun round and fired again, trying to focus on spotting where the gunmen were hiding. When he dared to look round, she had gone.


	7. A Remarkable Man

_**Thank you reading and reviewing. It makes such a difference to know you are enjoying this!**_

* * *

...

Edith ran down the path as fast as she could. She nearly tripped at one point, because she could not see for tears.

_No, don't do this! Don't waste these precious minutes he's given you on getting hurt__ and ruining it__._

So she slowed just enough to make sure that her footing was stable, and fell into a pace that was fast enough but which she felt she could keep up without flagging. All the way down the path, she kept thinking about what she could do to help Anthony.

Behind her, the gunfire faded into the distance until she couldn't hear it any more. She risked a glance behind her, but because of the curve of the hill she could now only see boulders.

_If I can get to the British Embassy, I can get them to contact the garrison here, and they can mobilise and __rescue __him. Yes! Everything will be alright. It has to be._

She ran and jogged with the sun rising and becoming hot. She was again grateful to Anthony for making her wear the robes to stop the sunburn.

She made the road, and looked up again. Still nothing but the rocks.

It was safer here in a different country. She risked trying to thumb a lift, but there were few vehicles and none of them stopped.

She kept running though she was getting tired now, but the thought that she could save Anthony's life kept her going. The town was not large, and she asked for directions from a shopkeeper in her broken command of the local language. He waved his arms indicating that the British Embassy was a few streets away. As she turned the corner she knew she had the right one, even though it was just an ordinary terraced house like all the others, because it had a small Union flag fluttering on a pole over the door.

She sprinted up to the door with a sudden, desperate energy, and banged at it like a demon until someone came to the security hatch.

"Please, you must help me. I'm Edith Crawley, the journalist."

The hatch had shut before she had finished speaking, and she could hear a lock being turned and a bolt pulled back.

"Come in, Lady Edith. I recognise you from your picture in _The Sketch_." The man closed the door and began to introduce himself.

"I'm Charles Carson…" Edith interrupted him.

"Please listen. This is very urgent. The man who saved my life is still locked in a gun battle with the insurgents who kidnapped me. We have to get someone up there to help him. Can you get hold of the army?"

"Yes, of course." He became very efficient, and strode purposefully leading her to an office off the entrance hall, while asking her a number of pertinent questions, such as how many insurgents this man was tackling and what he was armed with. On the wall was a map of the local area.

"Show me where he is, my lady."

Edith looked at the map and found the road she'd taken, and then the path up to the pass.

"There."

Mr. Carson picked up the phone and pressed a speed-dial number.

"And when did you last see this man?"

"Just after dawn."

He looked up at the clock: quarter to eight. It had taken Edith nearly an hour and a half to get to the Embassy. There was no way that two clips of ammo would have lasted that long. His eyes darted at Edith, his expression giving nothing away.

Edith was totally focussed on the official, and what he would say to the army. She listened quietly but with her eyes boring into him, willing him to convey the urgency of her request. After asking for a patrol to get to the spot Edith had indicated as quickly as possible, the man asked "Can you provide him with…" he paused, glanced again at Edith. "…any assistance?"

"You mean, pick up the body?" asked the captain on the other end of the line.

"I should think so, wouldn't you?" he answered. Then he listened for a while, before speaking to Edith again.

"Can you give a description of the man they are looking for?"

"Six foot four, dressed in black robes, with very blue eyes and blond hair and beard. His right arm is paralysed. His name is Major Sir Anthony Strallan, Intelligence Corps."

The man's eyes widened at this but passed on the information without further comment, and soon he put the phone down.

"They are going to send a team up there right now."

"Thank you. Thank you."

She'd been holding herself together just until she achieved her aim. Now she deflated like a balloon with exhaustion and worry.

Mr. Carson guided her down into a seat, and finally found time to introduce himself properly as the senior Envoy. There was a voice in the hallway and Charles went to speak with whoever it was. Then a woman with a Scots accent stood by her side, giving her a cup of tea, which she drank gratefully. Charles came back and sat by her with a clipboard. He introduced the lady as his wife, Elsie, who left the room saying something about getting a bed and bath sorted out.

Charles apologised for the questions he now had to ask her, urging her to tell him what had happened with him asking for clarifications where needed. And so she did: the kidnapping, her imprisonment, the attempted execution and Anthony's rescue, their escape up into the hills, the pursuit by the insurgent group, the ambush, and her run to the Embassy. She told him some details, such as Anthony's discharge, she kept what had passed between them to herself.

"It's just as well he isn't a serving member of the armed forces, my lady. As it is, yes, technically he committed murder, but we both know that they deserved it, and with the state of affairs over there…well, it's pretty lawless, and no one is going to be that bothered about pursuing 'justice'. But if he had still been an intelligence officer in the British Army, then he'd be facing a Court Martial."

Edith gasped wondering whether Anthony had worked that out (of course he had; Anthony was always about ten moves ahead of everyone else) and whether he would have acted the same way despite that. She knew the answer to her question before she'd even finished the thought.

"Well" said Charles standing to go over to the desk, "I suppose the next thing is to send word back home that you're safe."

Edith panicked. "No! Please don't! At least not yet."

Charles looked down his nose at her. Somehow it conveyed both a paternal concern as well as a hint of suspicion at not following accepted protocol.

"May I ask why not, my lady?"

Edith stuttered as much as she dared about her suspicions concerning Michael's involvement in her abduction, while looking at the floor. It all sounded so far-fetched and too much like a cheap thriller now she came to say it out loud to someone not involved. But when she glanced up Charles' face was wearing a very serious expression.

"Very well, Lady Edith, I will honour your wishes. But I hope you will allow me to make a few discreet, preliminary enquiries?"

Edith agreed to that, somehow knowing that she could trust this official whose manner was so stuffy he seemed to be a hundred years out of date, but whose efficiency and knowledge of the local situation spoke of much greater depths and abilities.

"Thank you for all you've done. I don't know what I might have been pushed to if you hadn't let me in, or not believed me."

"You are very welcome, my lady. Now may I suggest that I take you upstairs to my wife who will show you to a room where you can clean up and rest."

* * *

...

The bath had been heavenly, drawing all the aches from her muscles. Elsie explained that the Embassy had a generator for water, heating, and cooking since mains electricity was so haphazard. She had been as kindly concerned and as admirably organised as her husband.

Now Edith was lying in the bed dressed in the warm cotton nightdress Elsie had left out for her. She had taken the blood-stained robes and burnt them, and put Edith's own clothes in the washing machine. A fresh clean outfit awaited her after her rest.

But she couldn't sleep.

What had happened up at the top of the path?

Was Anthony still in danger?

When would the Captain return?

What news would he bring?

Her worries stirred around her head and her heart, only just in check.

After about an hour she could stand it no longer.

* * *

...

"You look so much better, lass" said Elsie meeting her on the staircase.

"I feel much better, thank you, except for...well..."

"I know, dear. You need to know what's happened to him. He sounds like a very remarkable man."

"He is, he really is."

Mrs Carson summed Edith up in a few appraising looks.

"Would you like something to do while we wait, to keep yourself occupied? The Foreign Office always assumes that diplomatic wives are willing and able to run an embassy, which is a huge house and business premise combined, all by themselves! Don't tell them, but of course I can! Nevertheless I could use a bit of assistance just this once, if you were willing."

"I think that would help. Thank you Mrs Carson."

"Just 'Elsie' is fine, dear. The Ambassador is returning tonight, so there will be about six for dinner including you. Are you up to peeling four pounds of spuds while I sort out the joint?"

"More than up to it. And 'Edith' is okay for me."

"Oh, I couldn't do that! Charlie would disapprove!" she exclaimed, although her smiling eyes undermined her words.

"So tell me about your Major" asked Elsie innocently.

Edith began to weep. Immediately Elsie had her arms around Edith's shoulders.

"There, there, hen. Let it all out."

So Edith did. They went down to the kitchens, and as she did the potatoes, she talked about the whirlwind romance, and the jilting, and how she felt meeting him again in the desert.

"When I thought I was about to die, he was the only thought that comforted me at all. He gave me the strength to face it."

"And it was the thought of you that gave him the strength to risk his life and hold off those thugs to allow you to escape."

Edith nodded quietly.

The telephone rang, and Edith and Elsie shared a look. By the time they'd got to the front hallway, Charles had answered it and was speaking in subdued tones. The conversation was short. He replaced the receiver and looked up to the two women.

"Lady Edith…"

"Tell me!"

Charles came round and held her hands. She began to weep again.

"I'm sorry. The Captain went to the top of the path. He found six bodies all insurgents, none of them matched your description of Sir Anthony. We fear he may have been captured."

Edith's tears turned into full sobbing, as Elsie and Charlie hugged her.


	8. Don't Lose Hope

_**After the cliffhangers of previous chapters, I thought I ought to post this sooner rather than later, before people start to throw tomatoes at me...**_

_**Thank you all again for reading and reviewing. The journey's so much nicer with you.**_

* * *

...

After Charles had told Edith what the army captain had found, he and Elsie had let her cry herself out. Then, on Elsie's insistence, she agreed to go to her bedroom again to try to rest. Through pure exhaustion she dozed, to her surprise. She came down a few hours later feeling merely numb. Charles met her on the stairs and introduced her to the Ambassador who had arrived back halfway through the afternoon.

"Lady Edith, may I present His Excellency Dr Richard Clarkson."

The Ambassador, a fair-haired man with a moustache and a Scots accent much like Elsie's, took Edith's hand.

"I'm very pleased to see you unharmed, Lady Edith."

"Thank you, Sir. But if I'm alive, it is only because of the skill and bravery of Sir Anthony Strallan. If you have any influence with the army or the local militia at all I would be forever grateful to you if you could sway them to find him as soon as possible."

Clarkson looked at Charles, silently requesting a further briefing, before replying to Edith "I give you my word that no opportunity will be passed over. If we can find him, we will."

* * *

...

"This was not the kind of day I was expecting when I woke up this morning" said Mrs Carson to her husband as they prepared to serve dinner.  
"That's the diplomatic life for you" he replied, stoic as ever, decanting the wine into a chipped glass carafe.  
"I suppose so. I do feel for that wee lassie. She's so brave and has suffered so much already without losing her young man."  
"Do you mean Mr. Gregson or Sir Anthony?"  
"Sir Anthony of course!"

"By all accounts he wasn't young."

Elsie scowled with real annoyance. "As if that ever mattered to anyone in love."

Charles put his head on one side allowing her point.

"Certainly, from what we've learned about him, Sir Anthony was worth a hundred Gregsons."

"Have you told her yet?" asked Elsie quietly.

"I haven't had a chance to do so in private. Richard's been pulling out all the stops trying to discover what happened to Sir Anthony and I thought Lady Edith would want that to be our priority just now."

Elsie gently kissed her husband's cheek.

"You got that right, my lad."

* * *

...

Edith didn't want to eat with the Ambassador. She didn't really want to eat at all. She just wanted the pain to go away. She wanted Anthony to be found unharmed. But if there was any news, good or bad, she did want to hear it, she just had to know, so she joined Dr Clarkson, the Carsons, and two attachés in what passed for the Embassy's dining room.

"What have the Foreign Office said about it all, Carson?" asked the Ambassador between bites.

Charlie took a deep breath and flicked his eyes in Edith's direction.

"I haven't informed them yet, Sir."

"What?!"

"I have, however, been in touch with GCHQ…"

"What the devil have they got to do with it?!" Clarkson wasn't even raising his voice but he managed to express his displeasure in a very direct way.

"We have reason to believe that…"

"I don't care! You have ignored due procedure."

"_Only because I asked him to!_" Edith said in a loud whisper. A tense silence stilled the table.

"I'm sorry, your Excellency. I asked Mr Carson to delay informing anyone back in Britain that I had been released, because I have it on good authority that my Editor, Michael Gregson, was the person who informed the insurgents of my whereabouts."

"Good God" Richard breathed.

"He was the only person to know exactly where I was being sheltered, and…"

She paused unsure how to proceed. Charles filled in the gap, looking between Richard and Edith. "…and GCHQ have confirmed that there were three calls from _The Sketch_ offices to monitored numbers, that is, phones belonging to known terrorists, all made between one and three o'clock in the morning London time in the days immediately prior to Lady Edith's abduction. I had one of our men check their records. Only Mr Gregson was present at the offices for all three occasions."

Edith just looked down shaking her head gently. "I knew it" she whispered.

"Why would he do such a thing? I thought you were engaged" asked Richard.

"I've been told that Mr Gregson is already married, to an American catholic who will not grant him a divorce. It seems he regarded our relationship as merely a casual one. He never intended to marry me, and once I had...fulfilled my purpose for him, he found a way of getting me out from under his feet."

Clarkson registered horror at this revelation, then turned to Charles with a new determination.

"I apologise for my earlier hastiness, Charles. You did exactly the right thing."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Have you been in touch with Scotland Yard?"

"Yes, Sir. They said they would inform us as soon as they have taken Mr Gregson into custody. Then I will immediately contact the FO."

"Good. Good. I am appalled by this, Lady Edith. I am so glad that we were here to help you. And Sir Anthony, of course."

"Do you know any more about him yet, Sir?" she asked in a voice that didn't sound like hers.

"I'm afraid not. My colleagues here will tell you that we pulled in each and every favour we could, but I'm afraid there isn't a single lead. No one seems to have seen him, or know where he might have been taken. The particular cell of insurgents who captured you, who we believe were the same group who attacked you at the mountain pass...they seem to have been completely wiped out. Sir Anthony did an excellent job, and followed it through to the end despite the cost to himself. Lady Edith, I want you to know that I will be recommending him for a George Cross and I wish it could have been more, but as it was he was a civilian at the time of his actions."

Edith tried to say 'thank you', but words would not come. The Ambassador had spoken of Anthony in the past tense. The thought struck home that she might never see him again. Her eyes filled with the tears she'd been holding back, and she murmured her apologies as she left the table. After a moment Elsie followed her into the hall.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Edith whimpered almost to herself.

"That isn't certain yet, hen. It's not looking hopeful, but we just don't know. I'm sorry you had to hear all that around a dinner table. Charlie wanted to get you alone to tell you, but he's been too busy trying to find out what happened and if we could help in any way before it was too late. Don't lose hope yet, love."

"Thank you, Elsie."

"This is what we are here for. Why don't you wait here and I'll bring you a mug of cocoa to take up to bed? No one will think the worse of you for not going back in."

Edith nodded and she sat on one of the hall chairs while she waited. If she hadn't been there all by herself she wouldn't have heard…no one would have heard the sound from the door, as if someone had thrown a bundle of clothes at it, followed by an odd scratching that was almost a tapping. Edith went back to the gathering in the dining room and went to Charlie's side.

"I think there's someone at the front door, Mr Carson."

Charlie took out his phone and checked the feed from the security camera outside. There was someone there all right, sitting with his back against the door, trying feebly to knock. Carson showed it to Clarkson. "A trap, do you think?"

"A suicide bomber? Here? Surely not."

Edith caught a glimpse and despite the blurred image, she just knew.

"He's too tall to be local. It's Anthony."

She ran to the door and pulled back the bolt. Charles ran after her and quickly had it unlocked too and opened it.

Anthony fell backwards into the hall, he was a ghastly pale colour, alive but unconscious, and covered in blood.


	9. Sympathy and Pain

**_Thank you all so much for your encouraging reviews...it's so great, and interesting, to hear what you think!_**

* * *

_Anthony fell backwards into the hall, he was a ghastly pale colour, alive but unconscious, and covered in blood._

Edith fell to her knees by his side, took his hand, and said his name over and over, willing him to open his eyes.

"Anthony! Anthony, my darling!"

Richard knelt down to feel for a pulse in Anthony's neck while Charles quickly took control, turning to the two attachés.

"James, David, could you help me bring Sir Anthony further in so I can shut the door? Thank you."

He looked at Richard waiting for his signal, one way or the other. After what felt like an hour to Edith, Richard looked up and nodded. Charles instructed one of the younger men to collect Richard's medical case from his office.

"Where do you want him, Sir?"

"The dining room table would be ideal, if that's alright with you, Mrs Carson?"

"Give me a minute, Sir, and it's yours!" said Elsie. "David, could you grab hold of those two corners of the tablecloth. I don't care if things get broken! A man's life is at stake!" They lifted the cloth and all the crockery, cutlery, and leftover food on it all at once, laying it aside in another room. Then Charlie, Richard, and David moved Anthony from the floor of the hall to the dining table. He moaned briefly as they took him up.

"That's a good sign! He's not totally out for the count!" said Richard.

Edith followed, but held back so Richard had room to work, worry drowning her eyes. Elsie returned and put her arm around Edith's shoulders.

"I don't know why, but I assumed the Ambassador was an academic doctor, not a medical one."

"He's quite unusual" Elsie replied. "Out here it's extremely useful. He'll tell us when he wants something...that is if you want to help."

"Anthony should've been my husband. He saved my life. Of course I want to help."

Richard and Charlie had begun to peel the black clothing from Anthony as gently as they could. The two men had worked together so closely and for so long that they didn't need words to communicate. The outer robe with all the pockets for Anthony's equipment came off easily, although torn in places. Edith explained their purpose; Richard raised his eyebrows in admiration, and gave the garment to the women. Elsie and Edith went through all the pockets looking for clues to what had happened, taking out a phone, odds and ends of food, the water bottle, and a piece of card, which Elsie unfolded to discover it was a photograph of Edith and Anthony standing together.

Edith's hand covered her mouth to stop the cry.

"That was taken just after our engagement."

Elsie rubbed her arm consolingly then they finished the job, returning back to the makeshift operating room. Anthony lay naked to the waist on the table. There were large bruises, and two fresh bullet wounds in his right side, as well as the old scars. Edith was taken aback by the force of her reaction to them. A sweeping rush of sympathy and pain that she struggled to contain meant that she didn't hear the discussion between Richard and Charles from the beginning.

"I'll have to, I have no choice" Richard was saying. "If I don't, he'll probably die anyway."

"What?! What do you have to do?" Edith demanded.

"He has two entry wounds but only one exit wound. None of them are life-threatening by themselves, but if I don't find and remove the bullet still in him, he may contract septicaemia, and I must treat all the wounds to make sure they don't become infected. The trouble is that, while I have an adequate supply of broad-spectrum antibiotics, I have no way of anaesthetising him while I work. And he's going into shock through loss of blood, so I must do something and quickly."

"Do what you must to give him the best chance, doctor. No one will blame you for what happens."

Richard nodded his thanks.

"The only thing I can do is to give him a local and a dose of diamorph and hope for the best."

So that was what he did, starting with the diamorphine to give it a chance to work. Elsie and Edith assisted him as he turned his attention to each of the wounds in turn. One of the bullets had shattered a rib. Richard cleaned it as best he could under the circumstances, then stitched the wound. The bullet was found after a search and removed but by that time Anthony was beginning to be restless.

"He's tough all right" commented Charles.

"He certainly is. He's trying to fight me" said Richard. "And that's good too. It means he'll fight to recover."

"He has something special to live for" said Elsie, smiling gently at Edith.

"I'm not going to be able to do this if he doesn't relax. I can't just give him more diamorph yet."

Edith went to Anthony's head and began talking to him.

"You're safe, my love. You're going to be fine. And when you are well, we'll be married no matter what my family says. I want to spend my life proving to you how much I love you, how much I owe you. All my kisses are yours, my darling. All you have to do to claim them is to get well."

As she spoke, Anthony relaxed and Richard was able to work on the last wound with ease. Once he felt satisfied that he could do no more, he put a hand on Edith's arm.

"I'm sure he'll be alright now. He just needs to rest."

"Thank you…for all you've done."

Richard smiled at her and instructed the two attachés to use a sheet as an improvised stretcher to carry Anthony up to the bedroom next to Edith's where she and Elsie made him comfortable.

"And now, we just wait" said Elsie.

"Again" Edith replied.

"Well, that's life here for you. Five minutes of drama followed by five hours of hanging around. But he will be fine, don't you worry. Richard gave him something to help him sleep, so he doesn't disturb the stitches too much. Do you want to stay with him tonight, hen?"

Edith looked up surprised. "Would you really let me?"

"Good heavens, child, this isn't the 1920s! And anyway he's hardly a threat to your virtue in his condition! I think the bed's big enough so you won't get in each other's way. You can always call us if you need us."

"Thank you" she whispered tearfully, thinking how different her sister's, mother's, or grandmother's reaction would have been. She changed in her room, and returned feeling very out of place. Anthony and she had not slept together before the failed wedding, although it felt like they couldn't keep their hands off each other during that month.

The bed was surprisingly soft. Anthony was surprisingly smelly. Nearly two weeks including several days in the desert without a wash will do that to any man. Edith didn't care. It was Anthony's scent, and she loved it. Cuddled up to his unwounded side, she whispered a thousand little endearments to him as she drifted into a much more peaceful sleep than she'd had in ages.

* * *

…

The sedative wore off just before dawn. Anthony assessed his surroundings and judged them safe enough. He was in a proper bed, which was a good sign since insurgents don't lay on comforts for their captives. There was a woman by his side. His heart rate shot up as he realised it was Edith. They must be at the Embassy. She had found her way here to safety.

He allowed the tiredness to catch up with him and dozed off again, but not before he had, oh so very gently, kissed her forehead.


	10. Battle is Chance

**_A/N: Wow what a weekend with so many wonderful Andith updates! Thank you so much to all our brilliant authors who are keeping the Andith dream alive!_**

**_This chapter is dedicated to Lady KMREE, in heartfelt thanks for her encouragement._**

* * *

…

She woke to find Anthony gazing at her, a contented smile on his lips.

"Good morning" he whispered.

"Anthony" she replied, on the verge of tears despite herself, "you came back to me, my darling."

"Of course I did, sweet one. I had to make sure you were safe."

She went to hug him, but only succeeded in making him hiss with pain.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry!"

"No, I'm sorry, it's me. I'm just a...a wounded and crippled, old codger." He gave a sad and self-deprecating laugh.

Edith leaned up on her elbows.

"Don't you dare call yourself that, Anthony Strallan! You are the bravest, most selfless, most _capable_ man I know. I'm sorry I put you in such danger."

"Well, help me walk to the bathroom and we'll call it quits" he smiled, turning the mood light and being rewarded with a sympathetic giggle from Edith.

* * *

...

As Edith waited for Anthony outside the bathroom, Elsie came down the corridor.

"I hope you don't mind, hen. I heard voices. How is he?"

"Better thank you. He's just in the loo."

"That _does_ sound better. Excellent. Do you think he might like a bit of breakfast? I'll bring it up. You two just relax."

Edith forced Anthony back to bed and insisted he rest while she went for a shower. By the time she returned, he had dropped off to sleep again. Just then Elsie brought in a tray of tea, toast, and marmalade and to the women's pleasure Anthony had a good appetite.

They discussed how to deal with practicalities as Anthony's wounds began healing. Elsie drew the line at allowing Edith to give Anthony a bed bath, but only because any 'strenuous physical activity' as she called it, (causing both of them to blush with furious embarrassment), might aggravate his stitches. Although she herself had suggested it, mostly in fun, privately Edith agreed with Elsie that it would have been a temptation too far.

Instead one of the young attachés helped Anthony take a shower since he was still in too much pain to do it efficiently for himself.

Clean, clean shaven, and dressed in proper clothes, Anthony wanted to see the rest of the Embassy, and to meet the Ambassador. They were just passing Charlie's office when he came out to meet them.

"Sir Anthony, it is very good to see you better. And, quite frankly, it is surprising as well as pleasing bearing in mind how you were yesterday."

"Thank you, Mr Carson. One can't just malinger you know" Anthony replied feeling a bit uncomfortable at Charlie's intimation, as though he shouldn't be up and about.

"Do you think you are up to telling the Ambassador what happened?" asked Charlie.

"Yes, of course. Better to get it over with."

"He isn't that scary, I assure you" Charlie replied.

"Mr Carson, once I have confessed to all I have done in the last two weeks, I am sure Dr Clarkson will not be satisfied until I am in the custody of the British Military Police, preparing to be deported to stand trial."

Anthony walked through to where the Ambassador's office had been pointed out to them. He didn't see Edith's worried expression or Charles' reassuring hand on her sleeve.

"Don't worry. I'm sure it won't come to that, my lady. From what I can gather, Sir Anthony is the sort to take responsibility for absolutely everything. Am I right?"

Edith nodded but she was far from reassured as she and Charlie joined Anthony in Richard's office.

Anthony and Richard were shaking hands - left hands, Edith noted - and Anthony was thanking the Ambassador-doctor for all his assistance.

"Not at all, not at all. That's why we have embassies: to help. Now, please sit and make yourself comfortable because I am longing to know how you got the better of those lunatics and made it here."

"Lady Edith has informed us as to events up until the time that she left you at the top of the path down this side of the plain" said Charles.

"So you are aware that I had to...to kill three insurgents to stop the execution and save her life?" Anthony stumbled over the words.

"Including their leader, yes we are aware of that" Richard replied.

"Good. That makes telling the rest of it easier for me. After Lady Edith set off, I held the position with covering fire for as long as I could using as little ammunition as I dared. But the situation became unsustainable when I was down to the last clip. I didn't want it to end with me running out completely because they would have realised, come forward and found me cowering behind a boulder and slaughtered me there. I didn't want to die like that; my pride wouldn't allow it. If the worst came to the worst I wanted to face them. Then I had an idea for luring them from their cover. I continued to snipe at them, but deliberately stepped out just a little too far from behind the rock to give them a target."

"Heavens, man, you took a chance! You could have been killed!" exclaimed Richard.

"Battle _is_ chance, Sir" Anthony stated sadly and calmly. "As you know, I took a couple of bullets, but that just assisted my act that they had got me. I lay still playing dead with my machine pistol hidden beneath my robes, waiting for them to come out and check on me, which they did pretty soon. When I was as certain as I could be that they were all there, and before any of them decided to shoot me again just to make sure, I...well, I had half a clip left. It was enough."

He paused, looking down.

"It took me so long to walk here simply because of the wounds and blood loss and..."

"Exhaustion?" Charles asked.

"Yes that, and conscience" Anthony added. Having given his report, he fell silent.

"What a story" said Charles.

"Amazing, quite amazing" Richard agreed.

"When do you think the local garrison will be able to send someone to take custody of me? Obviously I'm not going to make any trouble" asked Anthony.

Richard looked from Anthony to Charles and back again, bewildered.

"I'm sorry, I'm not with you."

"I've committed murder..."

"...in defence of another British citizen, and, incidentally, in defence of the security of the country on whose soil you carried out those actions" Richard clarified firmly.

"We have had information on that particular cell for some time which indicates they were planning more than just the kidnapping of Western journalists: atrocities against their own civilians, bombs in market places on other religion's holy days and such like terrorist acts" added Charles.

"Your alleged acts of murder were carried out on their territory and so the pursuit of any 'justice' is firmly in their jurisdiction" said Richard with a decisive air of conclusion.

"With respect, Your Excellency, that's rot and you know it. Their judicial system is in complete chaos. There's no chance of providing a fair trial...or any kind of trial over there for the foreseeable future, at least for as long as the insurgency continues" said Anthony, his wounds and tiredness slowing his usually quick wits.

"Exactly. Now, if you'll excuse me I ought to get onto Scotland Yard for an update."

"But..."

"Sir Anthony, Lady Edith, if you please" Charles ushered them out of Richard's office ignoring all of Anthony's stuttered objections, and closed the door.

Anthony stood looking at the wood for a few bewildered seconds. Then he remembered something. He turned to Edith, who was watching him closely.

"I don't know if you can tell me, but why was Richard contacting Scotland Yard? Does that have anything to do with us?"

"Michael" she stated. "Charlie got GCHQ onto it and they have records of Michael contacting the insurgent cell from the _Sketch_ offices. It was him who betrayed me."

All thoughts of his guilt or otherwise evaporated, and Anthony's face became stone with anger.

"I'll kill him. As God is my witness, I will kill him."

"No need, Sir Anthony." Charlie was standing behind them; they hadn't heard the door opening. "We've just heard that when the police tried to arrest Michael Gregson at the _Sketch_ building, he resisted, ran to his office, and shot himself."


	11. Excited And Scared

_"We've just heard that when the police tried to arrest Michael Gregson at the _Sketch_ building, he resisted, ran to his office, and shot himself."_

"He's dead then" she said bluntly.

"I'm sorry" said Charles, not sure what to say for best.

She turned and wandered blindly into the small courtyard behind the embassy where Mrs Carson kept chickens. Anthony watched her go, his face a picture of misery.

After a delay which lasted too long Charles said "Don't you think you should follow her?"

"Me?"

Charles Carson was not usually one for sarcasm, though he was severely tempted on this occasion.

"She needs you."

"I am not what she needs. She needs a young man who can give her everything she deserves. She's grieving for such a man."

Charlie didn't often lose his temper either.

"Grieving for that little runt? I don't think so. And what things does she deserve? Things like loyalty? Protection? Love? All things that, over the last few days, _you_ have demonstrated _you_ have in abundance, and far more than ninety nine per cent of _all_ the men she could have chosen, Sir Anthony, young or otherwise. And the fact remains that she chose _you_."

The two men regarded each other as Anthony looked like he'd been slapped around the face, then as he lived through centuries of self-doubt and external criticism as he weighed Charlie's words, and, with a struggle, eventually won. He smiled at Charles as his world view shifted back to how it had been during that blissful month in Yorkshire, and he made a decision.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson."

Charlie put a fraternal hand on Anthony's arm, just as the telephone in his office began ringing.

"Excuse me a moment."

Anthony pulled his shoulders back and walked out to the courtyard with his chin set, as another phone rang in Richard's office.

Edith was staring at one of the chickens as it scratched in the earth.

"Sweet one" he murmured tenderly.

"Is it very wicked of me that I feel nothing? No, that isn't right. I feel pity for him. He set in motion a series of events that led to his death simply because he fancied me. I hex every man who gets involved with me, not that there've been many..."

Anthony put his arm around her.

"Now, shush, you are not to blame. Michael made a number of ill-informed choices, and they were all his responsibility, not yours. He could have told you he was married, but he didn't. He didn't have to send you here, yet he did, and he certainly didn't have to kill himself rather than facing the music. You have done nothing wrong."

Edith cuddled him needing the comfort he offered.

"A man is dead because of me."

"That man is dead because he was selfish and cowardly, _not _because of you."

She lifted her head to look at him appraisingly, then buried it back into his chest.

"I almost got you killed" she moaned in a very tiny voice. Anthony's stomach did somersaults; she had been worried _about him!_

"You did no such thing, my dearest darling. You didn't ask me to come out here and...and, what was it your sister called it? 'Play soldiers'? Because that is exactly what I've been doing, isn't it?"

"If that's how you _play_ soldiers, I'd hate to see you do it seriously."

He laughed, a lovely bass chuckle, a sound she longed to hear again and again. She could feel the reverberations through his chest. She snuggled up closer to him. When he spoke, the sound of his voice soothed its way through her chest into her soul.

"I made the decision to travel here, because I knew that if I didn't...well, there was no question about it. I had to come. I just had to. If, when I got here, I found the only way I could buy your safety was with my life, well so it had to be. If you had been killed, I would never have known another moment's peace, so I wasn't risking much really."

The silence was broken only by the scrabbling of the chicken, and muffled voices from inside the offices. Anthony bent his head down to see her, and found her weeping.

"Oh, darling Edith! I know you need to cry, but he really didn't deserve your grief."

"I'm not weeping for Michael. I pity him, but any grief I might have felt for him evaporated like water during that week in captivity in the desert" she said, as the tears subsided. "I'm crying because I can't conceive of a life without _you_. We will soon have to return to Britain, and then there will be no more reason for you to be my...friend than there was after the abortive wedding, and...and I can't bear it." Her eyes closed on her misery once more. Anthony's heart nearly burst with love.

"My sweetheart, what can I do to reassure you that the future can be whatever you want it to be? I will do anything you ask of me. After all I risked my life for you, got myself shot, sacrificed my conscience, faced up to the PTSD to come here and stay here until you were safe, got very near to compromising my friends and former colleagues in the corps..."

"You'll be willing to...to try again? Do you really mean that?" she whispered.

"Yes, I mean it. I meant what I said at the top of the path too. I love you. I always have. Walking out of our wedding was the biggest mistake of my life. Everything I've done was worth it to save you, but it will be even more meaningful to me if it gives me a chance to put that mistake right."

She gazed into his eyes both excited and scared. He saw it and couldn't stop a smile forming as he withdrew his arm to kneel on one knee.

"If you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my past mistakes and the hurt I have caused you, will you marry me, and let me spend the rest of my life proving to you how much I love you?"

"Yes! Of course! A thousand times yes!"

Edith's tears returned bearing joy rather than fear. Anthony stood to hug her, although not as tightly as he would have liked since his wounds were complaining. He breathed in the scent of her. He pressed mild kisses into her hair, working his way to her ear, her cheek, pausing before kissing her mouth with the utmost reverence.

It may have begun gently but very soon the kiss deepened, turning wild and then tender by turns, both lovers lost in the happiness they had rediscovered, whispering sweet endearments, reacquainting themselves with each other's lips, and the wonderful feeling of being properly together once more.

So it was that Mrs Carson had to 'cough' three times, each time louder than the last, before they became aware of her presence.

"I'm very sorry to interrupt love's fair dream" she said with obvious pleasure and approval, "but Richard needs to talk to you both. It would seem that a bit of a fuss has been kicked up back home."

"Oh dear, I was worried this might happen" said Anthony.

"What kind of fuss?" asked Edith.

"The _Sketch_ published the whole story with all the details in an effort to distance themselves from Gregson and his actions, but they omitted to check with Scotland Yard or the Foreign Office first. To make things worse, your family learned what had happened from the paper. Your father is demanding an inquiry."

"How typical of Papa that his first instinct is to defend the family honour rather than wanting to know how I am."

"I'm sorry, hen, but I think it would help get Richard and Charlie out of a hole if you could speak to the Foreign Secretary." Elsie was pointed in her words. Edith caught her meaning.

"They've both been extremely kind to me. Of course I'll talk to him if it'll help."

She hurried back inside, Anthony watching her every move. When she'd gone, he turned to Elsie.

"What can I can do?"

"Charlie has been bothered by the Army. He and Richard have the details. Could you talk to anyone to smooth feathers?"

"Of course. And, Mrs Carson, after that could I ask your advice about where to buy a ring around here?"

* * *

**_This chapter is dedicated to dear Lady Spotted Horse, who said that part of _Vanilla? _was based on this story (although I can't see it, she's made it so much her own), and who has been a absolute brick and good friend through all my recent upheaval. Thank you, dear lady._  
**

**_We're nearing the end here, and then I'm going to be presenting another historical/canon tale, but please do tell me what you think of this one - it's the reviews that keep me going! Thanks._**


	12. This Gift Is Yours

_**The next series of Downton may be the last, we may not have seen Anthony for two and a half series, but Andith lives on!**_

_**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**_

* * *

...

The ground was warm and everything was quiet. The remains of the picnic were strewn about as the two of them dozed in the sunshine. Anthony rolled over to her and began nibbling at her neck. Edith giggled as she hugged him.  
Suddenly there was gunfire all around them. Anthony threw himself over her body to protect her. The impact of the bullets as they punched into his back made him physically jerk, in turn pushing her roughly against the ground. But he held his position, despite the pain, even as he was dying, in order to save her. The shooting stopped, but Anthony's beautiful blue eyes had closed, his body limp. She screamed.

* * *

...

Anthony shook her awake.

"Edith! Edith, darling! Wake up. It's alright. There, there. You were having a nightmare. Everything's okay now."

He waited for her to register where she was and that, indeed, everything was alright before he cuddled her as close as he could with one arm.

"I'm sorry" she wept.

"It's not your fault, stop blaming yourself."

"Hello pot, kettle here asking you to stop calling me black."

Anthony laughed out loud at that.

"Touché!" Then he sighed.

"You've been through so much, my sweet, it was more than could be expected that you wouldn't suffer repercussions. But you are safe, I promise."

"Prove it to me" she pleaded.

"How would you like me to prove it to you, my love?" he said, willing to do anything.

"Stay with me?"

"Of course, despite all the uncomfortable temptations that will put my way." She smiled and in a strange way that was the most powerful aphrodisiac he could imagine at that moment. She trusted him! By god, he'd earned it, but he still hadn't expected it to happen at all, not after the fiasco at the church.

They talked a little more while Anthony held her, feeling her relaxing. When he was sure she had gone back to sleep, he continued to hug her unable to sleep himself. In truth, he was worried sick. His own PTSD had only been brought under control with extensive counselling and quite a lot of time. He had already vowed to himself that, if she actually went through with the marriage, and he wouldn't blame her if she didn't, she would never have to put up with his demons. Now it looked like he would have to look on, feeling useless, as she had to endure her own. Of course he would be there for her, if that was what she wanted, but this was one enemy he couldn't defeat with firepower, cunning, or courage. He so wished he could, or that he might be able to take the PTSD away from her, even if had to go through it all again himself. He kissed her, and quietly promised her "You will never have to face this alone, my sweet one. You will never have to be alone again if you don't want to be."

* * *

...

Breakfast had been a subdued affair. Not only had Edith and Anthony slept badly, but it was also the day that they were to fly back to England. Elsie, in particular, felt like a mother hen seeing her chick leave her protection to go out and brave the big, bad world.

Edith needed a replacement passport since hers had been lost in the raid with all her other possessions. Charles had finished most of the admin, and now required only a photo and a signature. While she was in Charlie's office doing that, Anthony sorted through his black, pocketed robe with Elsie.

"Can Mr Carson dispose of these safely?" he asked holding up his two guns. "They're not likely to let me on the plane with them!"

"And I hope you will not be needing them once you're home either, Sir Anthony! I'm sure he can come to an agreement with the garrison about them."

He was searching through the garment fruitlessly, but trying not to let his disappointment show. In the end Elsie couldn't let him suffer any longer.

"Lady Edith took it."

Anthony started.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The photograph, of the two of you. Lady Edith has it."

"Oh. Ah. Um, of course." He reddened at being found out, and at the further evidence that Edith really did seem to be fond of him. Elsie put her hand on his arm.

"That wee lassie loves you so very much, you know. I don't want to hear that you broke her heart again."

"I vow to you, Mrs Carson, that will not happen. I would prefer to endure all manner of torture than cause her another moment's pain." He sighed. "She will have enough pain to deal with in the next few months."

Elsie tilted her head and raised her eyebrows in query.

"Last night, she had a nightmare. PTSD exhibits itself in that way, among others. I... I was struck down by it after the ambush."

"Perhaps yours wasn't _just_ caused by the ambush, but also by leaving..." she corrected herself, "..._losing_ Edith?"

"I...gosh, I'd never thought of that. Neither did any of the doctors or counsellors."

Elsie smiled. "What do they know? If Edith develops PTSD, she will need you more than ever, and if she doesn't, then all's well anyway. You are her anchor, the only person she feels able to rely on. That's one reason why it hurt so much when you left. Her family have never been exactly supportive, and she doesn't make friends easily or so she thinks. Both Charlie and I are quite taken with her. Perhaps she isn't made for small talk, hmm? She's better when all that's stripped away, like when we met and got to know her."

"Absolutely! As am I" he agreed.

"Well, there's two jobs for you: help her through whatever trauma she may suffer, and support her to make more friends. Do those and you'll be doing something good and bonny, and laying a strong foundation for your marriage. Just remember that this gift is yours and yours alone, Sir Anthony, no one else can be these things for her. If you weren't there, she'd survive, but she would not be whole."

With tears in his eyes Anthony reached for Elsie's hand and kissed it.

"Thank you, my lady."

Edith and Charles walked in discussing what was necessary once they arrived home.

"I know the Foreign Office want to talk to you, and you too, Sir Anthony. I would advise you not to talk to any of the newspapers about your time here. Leave keeping them happy to the FO Press Office. It's what they are there for, and it'll be one less thing for you to worry about. Do get checked by your own doctors, and..."

"Charles! For heaven's sake, can't you put all this on paper for them? How are they supposed to remember everything you tell them now?"

Charlie brought out two copies of a reasonably thick, printed document. "Just what I was about to say myself, my love!" Elsie blushed, realising the extent of her interference however well-intentioned.

Charlie nudged Edith and added with a smile "Confidentially, I think she sometimes forgets that _I'm_ the one actually employed here."

"Behind every good man…" rejoined Edith.

"That's absolutely true" agreed Anthony, putting his good arm around her waist.

"And now you must get a move on if you're going to catch today's flight." Richard had joined them from his office. "And I beg you to make it, for my sake. The Foreign Secretary will have my guts for garters if you don't."

They packed what they had, which wasn't much, said some emotional goodbyes to the Carsons, Richard, and the other staff, then got a taxi to the airport. One or two of the officials looked at Edith a bit sideways, as if they were trying to work out whether she really was _that_ Lady Edith, but all in all it was a very uneventful journey. Edith slept for a bit, making up for the previous night. Once she was awake again, Anthony started a conversation they should have had earlier.

"When we get back, where do you want to go then?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Where would you like to stay tonight? Do you want to go back to your flat? I assume you have one in London?"

"I can't; I rented it out while I was on this assignment."

"I'm not sure either of us is up to the train journey back to Yorkshire on top of this, are you?"

"Not really."

"So I suggest a hotel for this evening at least, and possibly tomorrow too, while we recover" he said with decision.

"Together?" she said, scared that he might say no.

"Of course, if that's what you want, my dear. After all, we are engaged again!"

She rested her head on his shoulder, and a warm glow tingled in their hearts.

All was well, until they emerged from the arrivals gate. A large crowd jostled for position, photographers' flashes and journalists' questions, imperious and impertinent, were flung at them. They were both astounded to find that their return to the UK had been anticipated.

Anthony recovered first, firmly taking Edith's arm and steering her towards the airport reception, whilst also trying to shield her from as much of the attention as he could. A rather seedy BAE official stared at them as they approached him, followed by the press pack. Anthony stood tall as he made his request which was really an order.

"Lady Edith should have some privacy while we wait for transport. Where is the nearest office we can use?"

"Well, we don't usually…"

Anthony leant down towards the man's ear and spoke very quietly.

"I promise you, if you don't get something sorted out stat, I will personally see to it that you, your manager, and your manager's manager will all be in Sir James Gelder's office tomorrow answering some very difficult questions."

"You can't do that!" the man whined.

"James is my godson, and, yes,_ I can do that_."

Edith had never seen Anthony give anyone the sort of laser stare that he now turned on the poor man. Quickly he found a key, led the two of them to a quiet room, and then tried to deal with Fleet Street's finest and order Anthony a taxi at the same time.

"Ye gods! That shouldn't have happened" gasped Anthony as he sank into an uncomfortable chair.

"Who could have tipped them off?" Edith thought aloud. "No one at the Embassy, I'm sure of that."

"No, it was more than likely someone at the airport who saw our passports and put two and two together. They contacted someone here and got a handout. The someone here told a few journalist contacts and _they _got an even bigger handout. The only people who lose are us."

"Who's Sir James Gelder?" she said.

"Mm? Oh, my godson, and, incidentally, Chairman of BAE. It sometimes comes in useful."

Edith giggled, but there was something odd about the quality of the laughter.

"Thank you…for taking control. I'm afraid I…"

"My darling, it's okay. I do understand. It feels silly, to have that reaction when you're life isn't in danger, but it makes psychological sense."

"I know but…" She began to weep and he cuddled her.


	13. Normal Procedure

In normal circumstances Edith would have been quite happy with a simple bed &amp; breakfast (in her head she could hear her grandmother scoffing at her lack of proper pride and decorum), and she was sure Anthony wasn't at all bothered where he stayed. But he steadfastly insisted on booking into Claridges, for the security and discretion that it could offer.

"It's also just down the road from my bank, and I need to go there first to sort out cards and so forth."

"I need to do that too" replied Edith.

"Just for the moment, if you don't mind, it's probably best if I do it for now and pay for us both. The press are obviously on high alert, so we would be wise to avoid leaving breadcrumbs when it isn't necessary. Once we've been to the Foreign Office, it will be easier to contact your bank, although it may well be best to leave it until we are back in Yorkshire."

"Are we going back to Yorkshire?" Edith hadn't really thought about where or when she might see her family again.

"Let's just go to the bank, check into Claridge's, get something to eat and a good night's rest, and talk about the rest tomorrow?"

So that was what they did. It was plain that Anthony had gone back into Intelligence Officer mode, Edith thought, but he was so good at it, and he was enjoying protecting her so much that she didn't have the heart to interfere and try to sort anything out for herself. She had not had anyone look after her so thoroughly since she had been a very small child. It was a new, and not unpleasant, sensation.

_Hopefully, one I will have to get used to...if he actually marries me this time _she thought. A fleeting image of Anthony in dress uniform walking away from Downton Church and from _her_ filled her eyes, and just as quickly vanished. Her chest constricted, she couldn't breathe, her legs turned to straw and folded under her onto the expensive carpet of Claridges' reception.

"Edith! What is it?" Anthony was at her side instantly. He had been booking them in when Edith had collapsed.

"I...nothing. Nothing. I'm fine. I...just...could I have a drink of water, please?"

The receptionist disappeared for a few moments then returned with a bottle of chilled water. Anthony asked for somewhere private, and the two of them were respectfully ushered into a small room with comfortable chairs further along the corridor, with a promise that they could stay there as long as they liked, that the duty doctor had been called, and that, in the meantime, the receptionists would sort out their check-in and find them a nice, quiet suite.

Anthony sat by Edith his own heart pounding, his good arm around her back, watching her sip from the bottle.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, embarrassing you like that in Claridges of all places!"

He tightened his embrace.

"No, need. You didn't embarrass me. Please don't worry about it. I'm more concerned about you. Did you see something, or someone, that upset you?"

Without thinking she answered "yes".

"Who?" There was an edge to his voice which didn't bode well for whoever it was who had upset his Edith.

"Er...you."

"What?!"

There was a knock at the door and a middle-aged man entered who introduced himself as the duty doctor. He asked to examine Lady Edith in private and so Anthony excused himself. He walked down to the reception, picked up the keys to their suite, and then wandered over to the bar. He suddenly felt in need of a brandy and soda.

Twenty minutes later, he heard his name being called. He looked up into the doctor's face.

"Sir Anthony. I believe you are engaged to Lady Edith?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"How soon do you plan to marry, may I ask?"

"That is totally up to her. We only became engaged..." Anthony had to think: was it one or two days ago? He wasn't sure. He hedged "...a few days ago."

"Many congratulations, but if you want my advice, don't rush it. Lady Edith appears to be under a considerable amount of stress." The doctor adjusted his spectacles. Anthony barked a quiet, but mirthless laugh.

"Don't I know it. Did she tell you the cause of this stress?"

"No, she would not tell me, but I assume, sir, that you do?"

"Only too well." The brandy was dulling Anthony's usually well-honed manners, and he was tired, so very tired. But looking after Edith came first.

"I don't think some skilled counselling would not come amiss. Would you like me to recommend someone?"

"Thank you, but no. I...I know someone extremely good...er...is there anything physically wrong with Lady Edith?"

The doctor shook his head.

"She's a bit underweight, fine otherwise, but if she faints again, do please call me. I hope you have a pleasant stay, Sir Anthony."

Anthony watched him go, thinking that the poor man was probably perfectly competent but paid a considerable sum for being called out all hours of the day and night to pander to rich guests of the hotel who think they are having a heart attack only to have to tell those rich guests as gently as possible that they are suffering from indigestion from over indulgence in the chef's special.

_I hate my class_ Anthony thought, not for the first time. _Why the hell did I bring her here, when I could have used a false name, gone to some faceless place in Shepherd's Bush, and disappeared entirely? I've failed in my duty to her already._

He tapped gently on the door to the little room. Edith asked who it was.

"It's Anthony, sweet..." He didn't finish the endearment. It felt wrong to do so, presumptuous.

Edith opened the door and stepped out, smiling.

"Are you sure you're alright, my dear?"

"Fine." Her smile looked a little too bright. "Nothing a good dinner wouldn't put right."

Anthony wanted to ask about what she had said, that seeing _him_ had made her faint, as soon as they got to their room and privacy. As they passed reception they were stopped by a man nearly as tall as Anthony.

"Sir Anthony."

"Oh god, no." Anthony's voice betrayed weariness as well as surprise. "You don't think we could do this tomorrow, do you, Dennison? We haven't even eaten, and we are both desperately tired."

"I'm afraid not. The Minister is insistent. If you would both accompany me, we have a car..."

"Why does Lady Edith have to come too? At least let her have a rest."

"Excuse me, what's going on?" Edith managed to make herself noticed.

"My name is Dennison, Lady Edith, and I work for the Foreign Office. The Minister wants a debrief on his desk by tomorrow morning, and he's a very early riser. We will need to interview you both, but we can make it as quick as is possible."

"And you will order in some food for us while we do it. You'll get a lot more co-operation from me, at least, if you do."

"I'm sure that can be arranged, Sir Anthony. Please."

Dennison held out an arm to usher them out.

* * *

...

The Foreign Office of Her Majesty's Government in Whitehall is one of the glories of the Victorian rebuilding of the old Palace of Westminster. Gilbert Scott design still vies with statues of statesmen long laid to rest, the William Morris-inspired wallpaper argues with the large oil portraits of Edwardian civil servants beadily keeping an eye on their latter day successors. Anthony had seen it all before, and it did not preoccupy him.

"I don't understand why we have to be separated." Edith was nearly in tears from hunger, exhaustion, and frustration.

"My sweet, it is just normal procedure, and nothing to worry about" said Anthony.

"They want to test us, to see if our stories agree...if we're telling the truth!"

"Partly, yes, but also different people see different things even in the same situation. They get more information from us this way. We have nothing to fear."

"If you say so, but only because you say so."

"My brave girl."

They were led to rooms at either end of a gilded corridor, and the interviews began.

* * *

_**Thank you all again for your kind comments. I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter up. RL, eh? Who needs it?**_

_**I have forgotten who first invented Dennison - but I'm very grateful to you whoever you are.**_


	14. Please Accept It

Edith had been waiting in the Foreign Office ante-chamber for nearly half an hour after her interview. Dennison had brought her a cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches which were not the sort of food that she had expected to eat tonight, but they were perfectly acceptable and she ate them gratefully. She wondered whether she should leave some for Anthony or whether they'd allowed him to eat his in the interview.

Her interview had been an ordeal, but strangely not as bad as when she had to tell it to Charlie Carson. Then, it had all been very recent and, crucially, she hadn't known what had happened to Anthony. Her body had been a tight knot of worry; she had only just been capable of relating events without breaking down. This time she was able to describe the story of her capture and rescue with more detachment. Also it was coloured with a fierce pride in Major Sir Anthony Strallan and his bravery. The FO civil servants asked a lot more detailed questions than Charlie had, but in an odd way that too was helpful. It helped her separate the facts from her fears and feelings. Another difference was that this time, she had Anthony with her, not quite physically, perhaps, but not far away and certainly with her in spirit. She was as sure as any human could be of another that he would be on her side, would love and support and protect her. That was what really made it feel different. She could feel what it would be like when one day she would be able to think back on what happened in the desert without it overwhelming her.

But right now, although she had held her own until this point, she had reached her limit. She needed Anthony with her, and the longer they kept him the more the anxiety grew.

"Why have they interviewed him for so much longer than me? _I_ was the one who was kidnapped!"

Dennison turned towards her. He seemed to have been asking himself the same thing, but he endeavoured to answer professionally.

"I believe it's because he is a trained intelligence officer, and precisely because he _wasn't_ the one kidnapped. He could be expected to keep his head, observe more, recall more, and draw useful conclusions."

Edith made a doubting face but said nothing.

"But between ourselves, I have never known them to keep anyone in there this long. It could be because of the unusual circumstances...him not being army or government agent when he rescued you." He cast a worried look along the corridor. "I just hope he's alright" he added.

Edith was about to ask more about how Dennison knew Anthony when a door opened and the man himself walked out followed by two civil servants. She walked quickly to him.

"How'd it go?" She noticed blood on the right side of his shirt.

"Fine, fine. Let's go back to the hotel, shall we, if that's alright with you?"

Edith wasn't the only one to see that Anthony wasn't quite right. Dennison came close enough so he could whisper discreetly "Do you need a doctor, old boy?"

"I'll call out the hotel quack. Get my money's worth, you know?" Anthony tried to smile at him but it turned into a grimace.

One of the interviewers drew Dennison to one side, passed him some papers, and said a few words to him in a quiet voice. Dennison nodded, and then politely led the way out to the waiting car.

Edith wasn't sure what to say on the journey back to Claridges. She just wanted to be with Anthony and hug him. She wanted to know what had happened in there, and to comfort him just as much as she wanted his comfort. As they were not alone she contented herself with putting her arm through his. Anthony looked at her in an odd way, then smiled at her.

"I must apologise for that, Anthony. I didn't know they were going to put you through the third degree tonight" said Dennison looking out of the window in embarrassment.

"You would not have been able to do anything about it if you had, so please don't worry. At least it's over now and I've done my duty" Anthony replied.

"You owed them no duty! They invalided you, remember? But you showed them that you are still one of the finest intelligence officers they ever had. You know, if you wanted to, I could make a few introductions...MI5 or MI6? They'd have you in a heartbeat, and pay you too which is more than can be said for the TA."

"Thank you, John. I'll think about it."

They were drawing up outside of Claridges. Dennison got out first to check for journalists, then stepped inside with them for a moment.

"Here are the papers and details. Please accept it, Anthony. I've never known anyone who deserves it more. Call me when you're back at Locksley."

He gave Anthony the sheaf he'd been given at the Foreign Office, then he was gone. They found a lift and got in.

"I'm whacked!" said Anthony.

"No wonder, it's past eleven" said Edith. "We woke at six this morning after a disturbed night, then we travelled across a quarter of the globe before tackling the British press machine _and_ the FO. All in a day's work for you, I believe."

Anthony smiled at her, a genuine grin this time.

"I was going to suggest that you call your family tonight before this happened. It's too late now. Perhaps tomorrow morning?"

"If I must" she conceded.

"Better that you call them if not calling would give them more reason to be disappointed. I'll be with you, if...that is, if you want me?"

"I do! I really do!"

They had arrived at their room and entered. Edith sat on the bed, wondering idly if she had the energy to undress before falling asleep. She was more interested in watching her fiancé as he began getting ready for bed. He was expert at pulling the shirt over his head with one arm, but the action made him wince. A glance at his side revealed the cause of the pain.

"Anthony! You really need to see a doctor. One of your wounds has opened."

Anthony inspected his side.

"It's stopped bleeding. Could you look and see if the stitches are okay, please?"

Edith leaned toward him.

"I can't see anything for dried blood. Would you let me clean it up?"

"I'd be grateful if you did, and I have a spare dressing that Dr Clarkson gave me which will help."

"Honestly, Dr Clarkson is a marvel."

"Certainly he's a very good doctor and an astute diplomat" Anthony agreed.

"He's wasted out in that wilderness, as are Charlie and Elsie" said Edith as she returned from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth and began gently wiping the blood away.

"Ah, the Diplomatic has a fine tradition of sending anyone with a brain somewhere obscure where thinking for themselves can't do any harm." Edith looked up at his uncharacteristic cynicism, but smiled back at him as she returned to tending to his side. She tentatively put her other hand on his bare rib cage to steady the skin. It was firm and masculine. She could feel his breathing. Her hands ached to go further south. Glancing up she was stunned to see Anthony watching her with a predator's hooded eyes and undisguised lust, that was until he saw her look at him, and he looked away. Her heart flipped; she became flustered. Did he want to...she wanted it so badly but...

She gave a cough. He cleared his throat.

"Your stitches look okay, and you're right: the bleeding has stopped, so I think you'll live if we just change the dressing and do without the doctor."

"Good. That's good. Um, thank you."

She looked around for Anthony's bag to find the fresh dressing, and then applied it as gently as she could. He still flinched.

"It's going to take forever for those holes to heal, dammit!" he cursed.

"And the broken rib. Don't forget the broken rib" she added.

"So much for what Mrs Carson called 'strenuous physical activity'! I'm sorry, my sweet one, you really haven't got a good deal in me."

"Don't even go there. Do you know what got me through that interview? The knowledge that you were there for me. You, Anthony. You are the source of my courage. I care about your healing. I don't care about whether you can make love to me tonight, or for the next few weeks. I just want you well and...and..."

Anthony put his arm around her.

"I haven't even asked how your interview went. I'm sorry. I seem to be falling apart at the seams." He kissed her hair as she cuddled close to him.

"It was alright. As I said, it was bearable because I knew you were there, going through the same, and supporting me. I can't explain it any better than that."

"Thank you, my darling. Thank you for letting me be the one you want, the one you rely on. I won't always get it right, like tonight, but I will always try."

He pressed a kiss to her lips, then said "Shall we go to bed?"

She smiled and nodded. "You have the bathroom first."

He kissed her again and retreated.

She sighed. Anthony had such an amazing ability to calm her, even when he was accusing himself of letting her down. She sat on a chair to take her shoes off, and was brought face to face with the papers Dennison had given him in the hotel foyer. She couldn't stop herself reading the first few lines.

"Oh my god!"

* * *

**_I think that the next chapter will be the last one (if Anthony and Edith will allow it, they seem to have run away with this one)._**

**_Thank you all so much for your lovely comments. It makes it all so much more fun!_**


	15. Ever The White Knight

_**First of all, if you are also reading Spotted Horse's story **_**Vanilla?,_ then I need to make it clear that the Dennison in my story is a good guy._**

**_Secondly, many apologies for the delay in posting. The next one might be longer because of RL and my mother-in-law's probate (translation: law stuff to do with bereavement). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this._**

* * *

...

Edith raised tear-filled eyes to him as he emerged from the bathroom.

"Sweetheart!?" he asked as he came over to her, instantly concerned. "What's the matter?"

She turned her head away. "It's nothing."

"It most certainly is not 'nothing' if it makes my dearest darling weep."

"You're tired. I'm tired. We can talk about it in the morning" she said.

"We will talk about it now, however briefly, before it can get to you. What is it?"

In answer, Edith placed her hand on the sheaf of papers on the table.

"That?" Anthony's face was blank with confusion. "Why should that upset you, darling? I suspect it's only the Foreign Secretary trying to make political capital out of of being connected with what happened to us."

"How can you be so blasé? You've been given a George Cross, Anthony! The highest decoration a civilian can be given! And it wasn't the Foreign Secretary who nominated you, it was Richard Clarkson. But that wasn't what upset me."

Anthony was struggling to keep up. "Dr Clarkson? Why?"

"For rescuing me and for ridding the world of those ghouls before they could carry out the atrocities they were planning against their own country."

"That's...that's very good of him. That makes a difference." He thought to himself for a moment before focusing on Edith fully once more. "If that is not the matter...?"

"The letter" Edith pointed out "is addressed to you with all your titles...and present honours. _Major Sir Anthony Strallan MC_. I told you that after the wedding no one mentioned anything about you to me. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"Oh, that" whispered Anthony as he realised what she was on about. He was upset and embarrassed himself now. "I only did what anyone else would have done in the same position."

"They don't give out Military Crosses just for being caught in an ambush, Anthony. There has to be more to it."

"I suppose there is. Can I at least get into bed before I tell you? It would help to be able to hold you."

How changed he was from earlier. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes trained on the floor. She regretted her upset and her need for an explanation.

"You don't have to tell me now."

"There's no good time, and you're right, you deserve to know. It might as well be now."

Edith got ready as quickly as she could and joined Anthony in the big, soft bed. He put the main light out leaving one bedside lamp burning, and put his good arm around her as she nuzzled close to him.

"I told you my unit was caught in an ambush. It wasn't quite as simple as that. Intelligence officers were embedded in twos with normal infantry units. We'd found that was the best and safest way to patrol to gather data on the shifting positions of the insurgents. That was why I was with them that day.

"The insurgents had used the oldest trick in the book: they had buried themselves under the sand and were invisible. The first we knew of it was gunfire coming out of the ground to one side of the armoured vehicle, which was the same side I was walking. I caught the full force of the first burst but, thank god, they weren't able to see well enough under the sand to aim. I went down with what turned out to be four bullets in my shoulder, and several more deflected by my body armour which saved my life. I hadn't even had time to return fire.

"Well, my colleagues in the vehicle, and on the other side, soon made short work of the gunmen near us from the ground, but we were still coming under fire from positions further away. I could see that the men on my side were in a worse state than me and we were all sitting ducks. So I carried them to cover, one by one."

"Despite your wounds?" Edith gasped.

"I think I was running on adrenaline to be honest. I was hit again on my last foray which wasn't surprising since by then I was their only target." He was silent for a moment. "Out of the six men I rescued two died before we got back-up, one died later, and one lost a leg. And I lost the use of my arm. Dennison was one of the other men. He had been the other intelligence officer.

"The PTSD started soon after I was got to hospital back at base. I...I dreamt of bullets whizzing around me, or I was not able to get to the men and had to listen to their screams, or a hundred other horrid things. I was flown back to the UK, but there was nothing they could do for my arm. The wounds healed but my mind did not. I was terrified of all sorts of things and situations. I had tremors at the most awkward moments. Then my Colonel recommended a counsellor who specialised in treating PTSD, caused by all sorts of disasters from rape to warfare, and she got me through it and more or less back to normal. I would very much like you to see her too. She really is marvellous."

"What's her name?" asked Edith.

"Anna Bates. She's a good Yorkshire lass, like you."

Edith smiled at that.

"How long did you suffer from the PTSD, Anthony?"

"The best part of a year, and it would have been longer if it hadn't been for Anna. Now it's a bit like a broken leg that's mended: there's a weakness there that I have to be aware of, it hurts from time to time, but I can walk on it."

"I think seeing her is a good idea. Thank you, and thank you for telling me what happened."

"Dennison left the army and joined the FO. The rest who survived stayed with their regiment. One of the men who died was married with small children. The other two had steady partners. I couldn't understand why they died and not me. I'd left you only a few months before, and to be truthful, I had nothing to live for. I felt so guilty for not being able to save them, for surviving."

"I thank god that you lived through it, my darling" she murmured. "What would I have done without you?"

"Elsie thought that perhaps I was suffering a delayed PTSD from leaving you as well as battle trauma. I think she may have been right." He turned to her earnestly. "You won't have to go through it alone, sweet one. I promise I will be there whenever you need or want me."

She put her hand on the side of his cheek, stroking his stubble from the very long day.

"Thank you. Shall we go to sleep now?"

"Yes, we'd better. I love you Edith." He kissed her and put out the light.

"I love you too."

* * *

...

Anthony woke to the hushed sound of the breakfast tray being left outside the door to their suite. It wasn't quite light yet, but he knew he wouldn't sleep anymore. He snuggled down further into the bed and admired his sleeping fiancée for some time before quietly getting out, fighting against the pain of his side. He brought the coffee and croissants in then nipped into the shower to clean himself up properly after the strains of the previous night. When he emerged the room telephone was ringing, Edith had stirred, and was answering it. She expected it to be an alarm call. It wasn't.

"I have an urgent call for Sir Anthony Strallan. May I put it through?" The receptionist sounded as though she had just lost an argument about what was the appropriate time of day for a phone call.

"It's for you" Edith mumbled, passing over the handset.

"Hello. Hello, Anthony? Are you there?"

"Hello John. What is it?"

"Look, I'm sorry for calling so early but I thought you should know that _The Sketch _appears to be trying to brazen it out. Despite the to-do with us a couple of days ago concerning publishing the story about Gregson, there's a photo of you and Lady Edith arriving at the airport on the front page with a story about her rescue some of which is correct, most of which has been fabricated by some drunk journalists in the pub by the look of it. I just want you to know that we'll be onto them and the paper's owner this morning" said Dennison.

"It certainly won't make things easier for us. Thank you for telling me."

Anthony said goodbye and stared into space for a few seconds.

"What was so important it merited getting us up early on the first peaceful morning we've had for days?"

"Weeks, really. It was Dennison on the phone. We've made the front page of your paper" Anthony said in that very controlled manner that Edith had come to recognise as indicating he was deep in thought about implications and possible responses.

"What? Oh no! The airport. With the interviews and everything I'd forgotten about that" she said, thinking how her family would take this new revelation that Anthony was involved.

"You will be able to get through this, my dearest, because I will be with you. You don't have to face anything you don't want to alone."

His words sank into her body like balm, calming and exhilarating simultaneously. It wasn't exactly peace, rather it felt like Anthony was a suit of armour protecting her. She relaxed.

"My hero!" she said, and she meant it.

* * *

...

After her shower, they ate breakfast together deciding to return to Yorkshire that day. They had little in the way of luggage so packing took very little time. They were almost ready to leave when there was a knock at the door. Anthony looked at Edith, whispered to her to stay where she was, and answered.

"Ah," regaled a voice dripping with confidence and command, "I thought I might find you here, Sir Anthony. Ever the White Knight!"

"I'm sorry, who..."

"Come in, Sir Richard." Edith sounded so weary and resigned, it broke Anthony's heart.

Sir Richard Carlisle, owner of _The Sketch_ and several other newspapers, stood in the main room of the suite as though he owned that as well.

"Lady Edith, may I say how glad I am to see you back home and unharmed, despite the despicable actions of our late Editor."

"Thank you, Sir Richard. Of course it would have been nicer to arrive home without the fanfare of paparazzi and front page headlines."

Carlisle batted away her complaint with his hand. "That's just business, as I'm sure you, as one of my best correspondents, will understand."

"I don't totally understand why the paper has continued to run this story when the Foreign Office told you not to only a few days ago after..." Carlisle interrupted her.

"They have to go through the motions, but it's really just a game we play. If they protest, the paper will claim freedom of speech and it will all blow over, but we need to publish _your own _account as quickly as possible."

Edith gaped at him. Anthony had walked round to stand behind her.

"Sweet, is this something you want to do? You could set the record straight" he said to Edith ignoring Carlisle.

"Well, I suppose I...but I think I need some time to..."

Again Sir Richard butted in. "No! It has to be this week or not at all, while there's still interest in the story, and before the next poor sod is kidnapped and beheaded." As he spoke, he stepped toward Edith and took her by the arms to impress the urgency of his words upon her. It triggered a memory of the kidnap, she froze, and then began to shake, the face in front of her not that of her employer but one of wide-eyed, maddened hate: the rabid preacher. Sir Richard didn't notice, and would not have understood if he had.

"You are still under contract to me, you know. I could make you do this."

Anthony's strong left hand took hold of Carlisle's right wrist and twisted it behind him in a swift and expertly executed move, pulling him away from Edith. He bent down to the level of Richard's ear, speaking quite calmly, but with dangerous undertones.

"Lady Edith will not be forced to do anything."

"And you're going to stop me, I suppose?" Richard hissed.

"In the last week, I have killed nine men. What makes you think I would hesitate even a moment to make it ten for Edith's sake?" He let go. Carlisle turned to him, rubbing his arm and visibly shaken.

"Are you threatening me, Sir Anthony?"

"Why ever would I want to do that, when you are such a considerate employer who would never force one of your journalists to work on a piece when they are not fit enough to do so? You will get your story when, and if, Lady Edith is able to tackle it, but only if she _wishes_ to write it. And if that is sometime in the future when she and I have ceased to be news, my advice is to print it in a Sunday supplement. But what do I know about it? I'm not a newspaperman, I'm only a soldier, a trained killer."

Anthony's expression was emotionless, his blue eyes chillingly cold.

Sir Richard muttered a goodbye to Edith, then walked by Anthony who followed him to the door.

"Purely out of professional interest, how did you discover we were staying here? You didn't bribe the staff?"

Richard had recovered enough equilibrium to look Anthony in the eye.

"Good grief, no! I know from experience that the staff of Claridges are sea-green incorruptible. One of the photographers who met you at the airport followed you on a motorbike."

"Ah. Sometimes the simplest ways are the best. You know, we are not so different, Sir Richard. We are both in the business of finding out intelligence. We merely use that intelligence for different ends."

Carlisle gave Anthony a grudging nod and left.

Edith was sat down. Richard's appearance and demand had rattled her so much. Although the flashback had lasted only a second or two, it had scared her to the core. She was still shaking when Anthony took her hand.

"My dearest darling."

"Do we...do we have to leave today?"

"We don't have to leave _now_, but I think it would be easier to get to Locksley, where we can better control who sees us, today. Also I can get you to Anna more easily."

"Alright."

Anthony could see that it cost her a large chunk of bravery to agree.

"You are amazing, you know that? You really are. I will do everything in my power to make the journey as smooth and painless as possible."

He kissed her, made a few quick phone calls, then sat back down next to her.

"What now?" she asked.

"We wait a little while for our taxi who will take us as far as Finsbury Park, which I hope will be far enough out from central London for anyone following us to take fright and scurry back to civilisation. There we will take the train to Downton, and home." A shadow passed over his face. "That is, if you want to come to Locksley. I could take you over to the Abbey if you would prefer."

"Don't...just don't...of course I want to come to Locksley with you."

He smiled again.

"It's your home for as long as you want it to be, my sweet one."

The phone rang again, the taxi had arrived. They gathered themselves together and left.


	16. A Boring Nuisance

"I've told you, Cora, I've tried her mobile countless times and it's dead." The Earl sounded more irritated than he felt, his frustration finding expression in the usual ways.

"Better the phone than her." Matthew was just as relieved at the news as anyone. Sybil and Tom had called from Ireland the previous night to hear all the news.

"She probably lost it when she was abducted by the insurgents" added Mary. "Most likely, Papa, you've been phoning gunmen in the Middle East all this time!"

"Mary, darling, that isn't helpful just at the moment." Cora's habitual patience with her family was unusually strained. "What's the latest from the Foreign Office, Robert?"

"I can't get hold of the Foreign Secretary, and all the civil servants will tell me is that she is unharmed, that she is back in Britain..."

"..._with Sir Anthony..._" Mary chipped in.

"...yes...quite...and that she's helping them with an extensive debriefing of events" finished Robert.

"All of which we could have worked out for ourselves from this morning's _Sketch_!" said Cora, exasperated.

"I may be an old relic of a bygone age, knowing nothing about the modern world, but it seems to me your best chance is to call _The Sketch_ directly. _They_ don't seem too worried about keeping secrets." Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham, went straight to the point, as usual. As Robert, Cora, Mary, and Matthew (who was trying to keep out of the ongoing argument) gaped at her, she sipped her coffee and went back to reading _The Sketch_'s report of her granddaughter's adventures. "Did anyone know he'd been awarded a Military Cross for what he did during the ambush when he lost the use of his arm...when he was in the Territorials? Before today, I mean? No? It would seem Sir Anthony is a man of hidden depths" she said thoughtfully.

"_Very_ hidden depths" Mary murmured into her tea.

"Mary! I'm sorry, but...he's very modest, like most brave men...I mean...do you have any idea how much courage it takes to do what he did?" Matthew had reached his limit. He himself had served a three-year tour of duty in the Grenadier Guards after university. Mary, immediately contrite, apologised to him.

"Ringing the paper does seem like the best course of action. Thank you for the suggestion" said Cora, trying to get back to the point and away from her family's disrespect of Anthony. She had looked up the number while Mary and her husband were having that little spat, and dialled it before anyone could say anything more.

* * *

...

"I can't get through. It's engaged all the time, as is Mama's mobile." Edith disconnected Anthony's phone and handed it back to him.

They were in a first class carriage somewhere between Peterborough and Grantham. Edith had phoned six times since they had left King's Cross.

"We can call in on our way to Locksley if you want to, if you feel up to it." The panicked look in Edith's eyes told him otherwise. "Or we can keep trying to phone? I'll try sending a text as well. They might not be answering because they don't recognise the number. The Press must have deluged them over the last few weeks."

"Poor Barrow!" said Edith with real sympathy for the butler.

"Yes, although I'm sure he's more than a match for them. In fact, once he got used to it, I have a sneaking suspicion he would have enjoyed letting his _hauteur _have free rein."

She chuckled, Anthony was pleased that he could make her laugh. She really needed to relax if she was going to get through the meeting with her family. So did he. The last time he had seen Robert was outside the church. He didn't want to think about his last conversation with the Dowager Countess.

He put his arm around Edith's shoulders. He needed her closeness and thought she might like his affection too.

_This gift is yours and yours alone, Sir Anthony, no one else can be these things for her._

Elsie's confident voice echoed in his head. Sometimes, as now, it was louder than his old fears which had resurfaced in the foyer of Claridges. He hadn't asked what she had meant then by saying that her faint had been caused by seeing him. He had been afraid to, proving that, at other times, that fear settled on his heart weighing it down.

He pushed all those thoughts away and concentrated on tapping out the text message.

* * *

...

Cora was still arguing with someone at _The Sketch_. Mary and Robert were listening and trying to give her support and advice, occasionally raising their voices at the unseen newsman on the other end who was more interested in asking Cora questions than answering any of hers. The Dowager Countess was still reading the paper.

Matthew's phone buzzed. He read the message, gasped, and passed the phone to Mary. Unintentionally she showed how worried she had been for her little sister by visibly sighing with relief, and quickly laid a hand on her mother's shoulder.

"I am going to complain to the owner of this paper!" was her parting shot before she dropped the phone down.

"She's on her way here, Mama" she said quietly.

Matthew tried to say "That isn't quite..." but he was drowned out in the cacophony of excitement.

* * *

...

Anthony's phone rang. Edith giggled. His ringtone was the theme to _The Magic Roundabout._ It was so terribly _him_: innocent and sweet on the surface and quite determinedly subversive underneath.

"Hello."

Cora knew from the papers that Edith had been with Anthony when she had arrived in Britain the previous day, although none of them knew why, although _The Sketch _had put forward some erroneous theories. For some reason it hadn't occurred to her that she might still be with him. Hearing his voice took her aback for a moment, but she rose to the challenge very quickly.

"Sir Anthony, is...is my daughter with you?"

Anthony glanced at Edith. "Yes, she is, Lady Grantham." Edith's expression changed.

"Let me speak to her..." then remembering she wasn't talking to an obstructive reporter "...please."

Anthony put his hand over the phone.

"Your mother..."

Setting her jaw, Edith took the phone and answered.

"Mama."

"Edith? Edith, where are you? Are you alright? When will you be here?"

"I'm...I'm fine, Mama. A bit shaken still. We're about an hour from Downton station. Did you see the newspaper reports?"

"Yes, we did. Edith, my darling, I am so glad you're okay, but why...why is Sir Anthony with you? Don't you think you are too vulnerable at the moment to be hanging around with him?"

Edith tried, and failed, to keep her voice from conveying how offended she was.

"I am with him because he saved my life." Cora tried to reply but Edith talked over her. "Look, I'll need a couple of hours to sort myself out. Why don't you come by around four? We might even be able to give you some tea."

"But you're coming home, aren't you?"

"No, Mama. I'm going to Locksley, with Anthony. I'll explain everything then. _The Sketch _didn't get all its facts right, and I know you will understand once you know the truth."

"But Edith! This is madness..."

"Sorry, Mama, I'm losing you...you're breaking up..." Edith cut the call, fed up with trying to describe just how important Anthony was, and always had been, to her.

She sighed deeply, then turned to Anthony.

"Tea at four o'clock with my family."

"I had better buy some fresh milk."

* * *

...

Locksley looked as lovely as she remembered it. Anthony unlocked the front door and stood to one side allowing her to enter first. She stepped into the hall with its curling staircase and the portraits of previous baronets, feeling at peace with her surroundings for the first time in what felt like years.

"I'm just going to put the milk in the fridge, and the biscuits on a proper plate. I'll be back in a tick."

Edith walked through into the Library, their haven. But she hadn't even had a chance to sit down when there was the crunch of wheels on the gravel outside.

"Oh no" she breathed, and hurried to the door.

Cora could not have stopped herself if she had tried. She just said "Edith" as the opening door revealed her middle daughter, rushed forward and hugged her, all the worry and heartache of the last few weeks falling from her with her tears. It was not the greeting of disapproval Edith had expected. She discovered that weeping can be contagious. That was until her father spoke.

"Come along. Let's get back. Everything's alright now, we'll soon have you home, safe and comfortable." He turned to the car, and her mother was leading her away by the shoulders. She felt the hyperventilation begin, struggling to speak.

"Did you have any luggage, my darling?" Cora asked.

"No! I mean, please, just listen to me..."

"Of course, my darling girl, once we've got you home" Robert assured her.

"Lady Grantham, Lord Grantham, thank you for coming. Do come in. Edith, could you show your parents through to the Library please, and I'll get the tea. I'm sure we could all do with a cup of something."

Anthony's voice was both charming and commanding. Edith felt that familiar surge of relief caused merely by Anthony's presence, his protection. She stepped gently out of her mother's embrace, in process leading her once more into the house. But Robert wasn't as easily persuaded.

"Sir Anthony. We have come to collect our daughter. She has had a traumatic experience, I believe, and needs peace and quiet, to be with people she can trust."

"I agree" Anthony replied patiently, "but I think we need to let Edith decide for herself where her needs will be best met."

"Oh no, I'm not having that" Robert scoffed. "You've very likely brainwashed her like you did before. We are her next of kin. Please respect our wishes." Robert made as if to take Edith's arm, but she shied away to Anthony.

"I will respect Edith's wishes" Anthony said to the Earl, but looking at Edith.

"Papa, please, just sit down for a few minutes. Let me tell you exactly what happened" pleaded Edith.

"There's no need to be intolerant, Robert. Let's just do as Edith asks" Cora said in her quietly forceful way.

"We know what happened. It was reported in the paper this morning, along with several photographs of him steering you to his own ends. The man tried to trap you before. He's trying again, can't you see?"

Edith lost patience and shouted.

"He saved my life! Three times in as many days, Papa! He was almost killed rescuing me! You don't know what really happened because the paper didn't know. They reported what facts they did know and made conjectures about the rest. Let me tell you the truth. Grant me that much respect. Please."

Cora took Robert's arm, delicately urging him towards the Library.

"Please, dear. It's only delaying our return home by a few minutes."

Robert said nothing, but glared at Anthony as he let his wife lead him.

"I will make the tea and give you all some privacy." Anthony casually let his hand caress Edith's arm as he let her go. He lent near and whispered low, so only Edith could hear "I love you. No matter what happens or what you decide, I love you. I'll just be in the kitchen if you need me."

* * *

...

He made the tea. He took it through to the Library. He ignored the thunderous looks Robert Crawley gave him. He smiled and nodded at Edith in what he hoped was a supportive way. Then he did as he had promised. He left them to it. He went back to the kitchen. Briefly he wondered whether Robert might actually try to take Edith to Downton forcibly, but he quickly dismissed that idea. It was as ludicrous as Robert's own accusations against himself.

Yet he couldn't silence the worries in his head as easily. What if Edith _did _prefer to go back to Downton? Would that decision make any difference to their relationship? Was he being protective of her, or possessive as Robert feared? Could he tell the difference anymore? They were her parents after all, no matter how odd their family dynamic. Would she still feel the same about him, now that they had returned to normal life? Or what passed for normal life? And if she didn't, how would he cope with losing her a second time?

He slammed his fist onto the kitchen table rattling his mug.

"Stop!"

He stood, paced the room, talked loudly to himself.

"Just stop it. Remember what Anna told you. These are only thoughts, they are your fears. They are not fact. What is incontrovertibly true is that Edith asked to come here with me. She is talking to her parents only to convince them that she feels safe with me. There is no need for me to act like an Intelligence Officer in my private life, always weighing up options and looking for ways out of worst-case scenarios. Breathe."

The breathing exercises Anna had given him were very useful, he'd found. For the next few minutes he concentrated on counting in and out and nipping any unhelpful thoughts in the bud before they could take hold. He remembered what Elsie and Charlie had told him, and all the good things Edith had said to him in the past few days.

"Would you join us please, Sir Anthony?" Cora stood in the doorway, elegant and yet approachable.

"Of course, Lady Grantham." This was it, this was when he found out whether his time with Edith had been a strange and dangerous blessing coming to an end, or the beginning of the rest of their life together. He paused to let Cora lead. She surprised him by putting her arms carefully around his neck and kissing his cheek.

"Thank you. Thank you for looking after my baby." Her voice cracked with tears. Then just as suddenly she let go and was pacing back to the Library ahead of him.

Robert was sitting on the chaise when he entered, but he got to his feet when he saw Anthony.

"Anthony." He coughed. "_Sir _Anthony. I owe you an apology. Edith has told us the full story of her abduction and your courageous and daring rescue, and all that you sacrificed for her then and since. I...I am not sure I know how we can thank you."

"By giving us your blessing to marry, without hindrance this time, Papa" Edith interjected.

They both saw it, the hesitation in Robert's eyes, then it was firmly replaced by thoughts of what he had just heard, of what Anthony was capable if Edith was threatened.

"With all my heart." It was said with certainty and with joy. Cora gave a little sob, smiled, and nodded her approval at her husband. Edith leapt up from Anthony's armchair and hugged her father, who in turn offered his hand to his daughter's rescuer. Anthony remembered Robert's words from before the jilting, knowing, as he gratefully shook his hand, that they would never haunt him again.

"I'm still not entirely sure about leaving you here, Edith, only because here Anthony bears the responsibility of keeping the Press at bay all by himself. I don't want to have to bail him out of jail for gunning down some hapless reporter" Robert said only partly in jest. "And there's your reputation to think of."

"I can reassure you on both counts, Lord Grantham. I have no weapons here at Locksley, and I am still healing from two bullet holes which prevent me being anything more than a boring nuisance to your daughter."

"If we are, finally, to be related, and I do hope we are, I think you can go back to calling me Robert."

Cora made a decision.

"If you aren't one hundred percent, Anthony, I really think you should _both _come back to Downton for the time being. I'll make sure you have as much peace and quiet as you like. At least you won't have to do the cooking."

Anthony looked to Edith who nodded happily.

"I would be delighted" he answered.


	17. As You Wish

The welcome to Downton was done in the old-fashioned style. Barrow headed the line of servants to one side of the massive, oaken front door, while on the other waited Matthew, Mary, their son George, and, unusually, the Dowager Countess.

Anthony got out of the car and then gave his good hand to Edith to assist her. Cora had rung ahead to supervise arrangements for the couple's stay, and, incidentally, to tell them the true facts of Edith's experiences. The news had overtaken upstairs and downstairs like wildfire.

_"Sir Anthony? Sir Anthony Strallan? Not...the one who jilted her?"_

_"Evidently he infiltrated the group and passed himself off as one of them!"_

_"He had a gun battle, just him, with six of them and he won!"_

_"He did all that even though his right arm was paralysed from when he was out there before."_

The Earl and Countess emerged from the vehicle and, as etiquette dictated, the four of them walked slowly towards the highest ranking member of the party. To his shock, Violet Crawley, with infinite grace and only a little wobbliness, curtsied to Anthony as he approached her.

"Lady Grantham! Please...there's no...you don't have to..."

The staff burst into a spontaneous round of applause, Matthew, Robert, and Cora joining in heartily and even Mary clapped.

Anthony had to turn his head to hide his emotion, but when Edith caught him in her arms and hugged him tight he couldn't help the tears.

The clapping died down, Anthony mastered himself, and he turned to Violet. Echoing the honour she had paid him, he bowed low over her hand and kissed it.

"Thank you, Lady Grantham."

"We must thank you, Sir Anthony. Only a very brave man could do the things you have done, the bravest of which is to have returned here knowing you would have to meet me."

Edith and Mary laughed, but Anthony was less used to Violet's deadpan sense of humour and looked somewhere between bemused and scared stiff.

* * *

...

After milling around, cooing over George, and merely being polite, Anthony was ushered inside for a drink and his small case was taken up to his bedroom. After that, Barrow showed Anthony up there to freshen up. They took the South Staircase, which Anthony thought was a bit odd, but it became clear that this was all part of a scheme. It turned out that Cora had put him in a suite of rooms next to Edith's room and that was usually accessed via the Main Staircase, thereby giving the impression that Edith and he were separated. Barrow was professionally inscrutable. Nevertheless, Anthony had the definite understanding that the butler knew what the Countess had planned.

Dinner was awkward, as ever in the Crawley household. But not for the usual reasons of disapproval and petty squabbling. No one quite knew what to say to Anthony. He wasn't the man they thought they knew any more. Until that day, Sir Anthony Strallan had been, in their minds, an affable neighbour who went on manoeuvres on the Yorkshire moors for fun at the weekends, a bit dull but kind and pleasant. Now, however, they knew that his mild character in society was not the entire story. In fact, he was a very brave, intelligent, selfless man who was so deeply in love with Edith that he had put his life on the line to save her without a second thought. Against that any small talk would appear crass.

No one knew how to start a conversation with this new phenomenon...except Violet.

"Will you miss the military life, Sir Anthony?"

"I don't think so, Lady Grantham" he replied, thinking briefly of Dennison and his offer.

"What will you do with your time now? Surely after such adventures a quiet existence at Locksley would be unbearable?"

Anthony looked to his fiancée.

"I think a quiet existence at Locksley sounds absolutely marvellous, at least until we both recover. After that I am happy to fall in with Edith's plans."

Mary rolled her eyes at this display of lovey-dovey-ness. Violet and Cora looked very satisfied with Anthony's answer. But Anthony didn't see any reaction except Edith's shining eyes gazing gratefully at him.

* * *

...

After dinner, Anthony and Edith said goodnight very decorously in full view of all the family, especially Violet, and went up different staircases to their respective rooms. Five minutes later Anthony heard a tiny rap at the connecting door.

"May I come in?"

"I thought you'd never ask" he sighed. "Your mother is a very broad-minded woman, and devious to boot. She would have done well in the Corps."

"I might tell her you said so. I believe she would be flattered."

"I...I meant what I said to your father. I am not a threat to your virtue still, my darling. I'm sorry."

"I just want to be with you. Is that acceptable? Or would you prefer me to leave you alone?"

Anthony was beginning to recognise the signs of Edith's lack of confidence. He hadn't seen it when they were engaged before, perhaps because she was so happy it didn't really arise.

"Of course I want you, my dearest. I can't imagine sleeping without you, and I love having you close."

"Really? You're sure?"

"Adamant. The only question is whether we sleep here or in your bedroom."

In reply Edith slid into the bed behind him, leaving the sheets invitingly open, smiling at him. It wasn't a determinedly seductive smile but Anthony's body reacted to her with more vigour than he considered safe. Still, he got into the bed allowing her to tuck herself under his arm. He kissed her hair, said goodnight once again, and tried to think of cold showers.

* * *

...

So the days passed. Cora, as she had promised, kept Robert, Violet, and Mary away from them, so that they had privacy and solitude during the day, and in turn Anthony and Edith joined the family for dinner. Relations gradually thawed as Anthony and the Crawleys got used to each other once more.

And every evening Edith slinked into Anthony's bedroom to sleep. And each night he felt his body healing further and demanding more comfort from Edith than he was willing to ask of her in her fragile state.

One morning he woke around dawn longing for her so much that he couldn't wait for her to wake as he usually did, but eased out of bed without disturbing her and sought relief in the shower.

Over breakfast he raised what he hoped would be the way forward for them both.

"If I were to make all the arrangements, would you feel up to seeing Anna Bates sometime this week?"

"I'm not sure I'm going to need her help. You've looked after me so well, I haven't had any nightmares or other problems since we came back to Yorkshire."

"That's wonderful and I am relieved, but I still think it would be useful to talk to her, just to make sure. Sometimes these things take time to surface."

"Alright, I agree, if it will make you feel better!"

Anthony's responding smile didn't reach his eyes.

* * *

...

"Major Strallan was, I think, the kindest and bravest man I ever treated" said Anna after introducing herself. "I am so glad to meet you at last, Lady Edith. He spoke of you often."

"Really? Did he really? What did he say?"

"I don't think I'm breaking patient confidentiality if I tell you what he must have told you himself: he said how much he loved you, how much he hated himself for leaving you, especially in that manner, and for being weak enough to start a relationship with you in the first place. He was sure he would have ruined your life if he'd married you. It's wonderful that he has been convinced that he's worthy of you."

"But...but he was almost killed when he rescued me. I put him in danger. I'm not sure _I_ am worthy of _him_."

"Do you feel that he puts you on a pedestal?" Anna began making a few notes.

"I'm sure he does. I'm afraid that he will persuade himself he doesn't deserve me again at some point in the future...or discover that I'm mortal, and not the goddess he believes me to be...and he'll walk away from me once more, for good this time."

Edith began to weep. At Anna's caring and careful probing, she talked about the abduction and the rescue, and about how she feared Anthony might be coerced into leaving her a second time, or believe he was even less worthy of her now he had a war wound.

At the end of the hour she had sifted through a lot of emotions, laying some to rest, but stirring up some that she was trying hard to ignore and suppress.

* * *

...

That evening she knocked on Anthony's door feeling less than happy about joining him for the first time. She watched him in minute detail on the lookout for any sign that he was getting cold feet. Anthony noticed the difference in her, and tried hard to put it down to the psychological upheaval of therapy.

"How was it? Did you find it helpful?" Anthony was anxious to know that Edith had found Anna's therapy as useful as he had done, but he was careful not to sound as though he wanted to pry into details.

"Yes, she's very nice. It was quite painful in parts."

"It is at the start. It gets better, I promise."

"That's reassuring. I made another appointment to see her again, but I feel totally exhausted by today's session. I really need to get some sleep. Good night, Anthony."

"Good night, my sweet one."

He kissed her on the top of her head as usual, but they didn't cuddle and settled down without touching, although it took him a long time to get to sleep because of the constricting of his heart.

* * *

...

The day after was worse still. Edith was sure she could see telltale hints that Anthony was getting ready to bolt again, and Anthony was sure he saw in Edith's pensive expression the realisation of what marriage to an older man with a paralysed arm would really mean. As these things often do, their emotions came to a head over an unrelated, and insignificant disagreement.

They were preparing to take Isis out for a walk. Anthony couldn't fix her collar and leash with one hand, try as he might. Edith took over, pushing past him more roughly than she intended.

"I could have done it, you know, I just needed a bit more time."

"There's no need to be touchy. We all need help now and then."

"Meaning that I need help more often than not? Yes?" He looked annoyed, but sounded hurt.

"Don't read things into my words that aren't there. You are beginning to sound like Mary."

"That's...that's not kind...to either me or Mary."

"So now you're taking her side?! Everyone does sooner or later" she wept.

"You know that's not..."

"Why did you go out to that god-forsaken desert to save me? Why didn't you let 'boring, plain Edith' have her head chopped off, and solve everyone's problems?"

"The same reason I was willing to get shot again to make sure..."

"Oh, yes, bring that up again. Major Sir Anthony Strallan MC, GC...what a hero! I don't think it mattered that it was me you saved. It could have been anybody."

"Edith, you know that isn't true. I know you're suffering, but don't..."

"Don't take it out on you?! Why not?! It was your fault I ended up there in the first place. If you hadn't walked away..."

"That's not fair..."

"And what's stopping you walking away again?"

"Edith, I don't think this is helpful. Perhaps you need a bit of space..."

"So you are leaving me?"

"Of course not! Unless you want me to."

"Yes. Yes I do. I want you to leave Downton."

He stared at her, then bowed his head.

"As you wish."


	18. Dear Idiot

_Yes. Yes I do. I want you to leave Downton."_

_He stared at her, then bowed his head._

_"As you wish._"

...

Anthony went upstairs to pack. It didn't take him long. What took the time was the unhappiness as his eyes fell on reminders. Her nightgown. The double bed. The photo of them together, seen through tears.

He didn't want to have to face saying goodbye to Cora and the family but his sense of etiquette demanded it.

"I'm sorry but I have to leave. I just wanted to thank you for your hospitality and for all your kindness."

"Leave? But why?" Cora exclaimed.

"It's just...Edith and I...I mean..." He stuttered to a halt as his eyes clouded and his head slumped to his chest, shoulders shaking. Earning his eternal gratitude Cora put her arms around him and made soothing noises. Between sobs he told Cora what had happened.

"It seems to me" she said "that you two need to talk when you've both calmed down."

"Perhaps, but not today" he responded.

"Do you still really want to go back to Locksley?"

"I gave her my word that I would."

"If you're sure, then I'll take you home" she said and after a quiet word with Barrow, they left.

* * *

...

Edith took Isis out to the old folly at the bottom of the lawns. There she wet the dog's fur with her tears, hating herself. Despite what Anna had taught her, turmoil turned to panic as she realised what she had done. She wanted to run back to the house, find him, and beg his forgiveness. If she did that she half expected him to tell her that he couldn't cope with the mess she was and he was leaving anyway, and it was that that stopped her. It was only when Isis began to whimper her desire to go back inside, seeing as she wasn't getting a proper walk, that Edith built up enough courage to return, meeting her mother in the hallway coming in from the car.

"Edith, my darling. It's okay, I've seen him." Cora was not going to make Edith explain her side of the story, she was obviously too upset for that. Giving her daughter a hug, she felt, for the second time that morning, grief take its hold on someone in her arms.

"I've ruined everything, Mama."

"I doubt that very much. But he is hurting. He knows what PTSD does to people, but when it comes to _you_, all his logic goes out the window. He doesn't know what to do to help you best, and he's terrified that you really want to split up with him because he reminds you of all you've been through."

"Of course I don't want to split up. I mean, yes he reminds me of what we endured, but the point is we endured it _together_, and _he_ did most of the enduring! He did it all for me! And I threw it back in his face! I love him so much, Mama! Where is he? I want to apologise, make it all right again, if he'll let me."

"Of course he will let you, my baby. I've taken him back to Locksley. Give him some space and when you're both calmer..."

It was like Cora had plugged Edith into the mains. She began shaking uncontrollably, and her tears started again with twice as much force as before.

"Oh God, no! No! What have I done?! I have to speak to him."

"Edith? What's wrong?"

"I know what he will do if he thinks we've separated again. When we were in London an old colleague of his offered to get him into MI5 or MI6. Just like after our failed wedding, he will get himself sent on the most dangerous assignment he can find and he'll...he'll try to get himself killed!"

Cora tried to reassure Edith that this situation wasn't as catastrophic as it had been years before, but a voice at the back of her mind told her that Edith could be right. She began to worry. She called Barrow to stay with Edith while she made a telephone call, but she couldn't get through. It was engaged. She tried several times then called Mrs Bates instead.

* * *

...

Anthony sat in his library, contemplating the mess that was his life. At some points he was able to believe that Edith just needed a little time, a little space. Other moments convinced him that he had ruined Edith's life. During one of those moments he thought of Dennison's offer, but it seemed too ridiculous that an elite unit would want to recruit a crippled old codger like him. Now, his infirmity would put other agents in danger. No, he'd tried that way out before and it had led to him being shot. He needed to face the fact that the best way of dealing with the pain was the hardest. He dialled Anna Bates' number, and arranged to see her as soon as he could get over to her.

* * *

...

Anna knew what she was doing. Anthony had come into her office calm and contained like the officer and gentleman he was. But within twenty minutes he had broken down, the loss of Edith too much for him to bear. Halfway through the session the doorbell had rung.

"I'm so sorry, Anthony. I know who this is and I'm afraid I can't put them off. Excuse me, please, for just a minute or two."

"Of course, of course" Anthony assured her, secretly glad of the interruption and the chance to try to pull himself together again. It took an effort, and still he failed, the tears refusing to stop. Hurting though he was, talking to Anna did help. Her voice soothed him, and her words reminded him of the techniques she'd taught him before to bring his shattered emotions under control.

Anna returned, leaving the door half open.

"Now, where were we?"

"How I am going to cope if Edith...if Edi..." Anthony's feelings ambushed him again and he couldn't finish.

"What did you do last time?"

"Spent all my time reading, maintaining the house, visiting you and my physio, and resisting the urge to finish what the insurgents had begun."

"By that you mean...?"

"Putting a bullet in my head."

"Which you resisted successfully."

"Thanks to you."

Anna smiled.

"Thank you, but you did all the work resisting. So, what's to prevent you doing all that again, and more, this time?"

"I've been reminded of everything I have lost. She's everything to me, Anna. Without her, my life feels hollow, a half life full of ghosts. She gave me back my life in the last week or two. The truth is I needed her far more than she needed me. She's a marvellous young lady with her life still ahead of her. She doesn't need me at all."

Anna let him weep for a moment.

"I don't think that's true, Anthony."

"Look at me! One working arm, and nearly twice her age. And her? If she can be persuaded to continue her journalism in safety, she has a Pulitzer waiting for her somewhere down the line! She doesn't need an old codger like me."

"Perhaps she feels as you do, she may think she doesn't deserve you. You are a highly decorated officer..."

"...were..."

"..._are_ a highly decorated _man_, a baronet with a beautiful house and a considerable fortune. She has what she earns and what her father allows her, and a lifetime of trying to live up to her parents' expectations and Lady Mary's example. You made her feel cherished and valued in a way she had never known before."

"Do you really think so?" asked Anthony.

"Yes" Anna replied with certainty.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I told her" Edith said.

She stood in the doorway, her tears obvious. Anna left the room to them, putting her arm on Edith's as she went out, and shut the door.

"I've been set up" said Anthony.

"With the best of intentions."

"You heard all my bleeding heart confessions?"

"There is no shame in needing a bit of help especially bearing in mind what you have been through."

"There a difference between believing that intellectually and...and the woman you love hearing it in the raw. I feel rather exposed, vulnerable in fact."

"I'm just as vulnerable. Anna was right when she said I needed you."

"Elsie Carson told me the same thing, but...I don't see how it can be true." He turned to her, eager to be clear.

"Don't get me wrong, I want it to be true, in a way...I don't want you to feel beholden, or weak. I want you to want me...but I fear it isn't true and you are prevented from saying so by...I don't know, gratitude or something."

"I am very grateful to you, Anthony, for lots of things, for saving my life, for believing in me. I didn't mean to hurt you this morning, but it all got too much...thinking that you didn't want me...that you wanted to leave me...again."

The world twisted back into place for Anthony.

"_You were afraid that I would jilt you, and I was afraid you didn't really want me._ Is that right?"

Edith nodded.

"Oh, sweetheart. I promise you I will never, _never_ walk away from you again, not even if you tell me to. If you ever want to get rid of me, you will have to do the walking. That is...if you do want me?"

Edith moaned through her tears, "Yes, of course I want you! I need you, you dear idiot. I love you."

Anthony got up and walked to her despite his watery eyes, declaring "I love you too, my dearest darling, so very much."

Edith stepped towards him, meeting him in the closest, tightest embrace.

"I'm sorry."

"Hush, my love. You've been through so much. I understand."

"Anthony."

She petted at his hair and cheek, needing to feel him, wanting to be sure of him. He pecked kisses at her ears and forehead, before looking seriously into her eyes, pulling her even closer to him, and pressing his lips to hers.

* * *

…

Outside the office, Anna and Cora noticed that conversation inside had stopped. They listened for a few moments more, then smiled at each other.

"Would you like a coffee while you wait, Lady Grantham?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you Mrs Bates."

* * *

...

_Please accept my apologies for the delay in updating. I hope this reunion compensates in small part. The wedding will be next!_


	19. Yours Utterly

Anthony sat at the very front of Downton Church, perfectly attired in full dress uniform, right arm hanging in a crisp, neat sling, shaved and groomed immaculately. He also looked exactly as the Dowager Countess had just (loudly) described him: "as though he was waiting for a beating from the headmaster".

His nerves had been worsening over the course of the last few days before the wedding. He had told himself it was just natural pre-marriage jitters made worse by his PTSD. He thought back to the previous occasion when he had waited for Edith at this exact place for this exact purpose, and the magnitude of what he was about to do hit him...again.

He closed his eyes.

He filtered out the murmured chatter of the congregation and thought of the last few months.

* * *

...

Anna hadn't been surprised when Anthony and Edith had suggested coming to therapy together. In fact, she thought it was an excellent idea. In the next session, they had explored Edith's belief that Anthony didn't really love her, her lingering pain that he had jilted her, and her fear that he would leave her once again.

That had been a very difficult time for them both, but especially for Anthony. He couldn't stop apologising. At one point he even went down on his knees to beg her forgiveness. He had reassured her that he really had wanted to marry her, very much, but that the intervention of her father and grandmother, and what he thought was their reasonable antipathy towards the wide difference in their ages, had been too vicious for him to ignore. That caused its own problems for Edith and her relationships with Robert and Violet, which resolved themselves in the usual way: Violet didn't exactly apologise but instead made some witty remark which both expressed and masked her fondness for Edith and her remorse for her actions; whilst Robert had tried to explain his motives. He failed, apologised, and called her 'my darling girl' which masked his general neglect of Edith, a failing he usually managed not to acknowledge to himself although it was all too plain to Edith.

In the session Edith and Anthony had with Anna after that, she had tried to bring out the positives of their relationship. This had been much easier, as they talked about their shared love of old cars, how passionate they both were about social justice, and how similar their personalities were...that was, until they started to discuss sex.

"Sir Anthony, your concerns about your age...are they proved or disproved by your physical relations? Because, you know, don't you, that there is a wide range of help available nowadays?"

"I'm sorry?" The blank incomprehension on his face would have been comical, thought Edith, if it weren't so tragic.

"How are things in bed?" Anna reiterated more assertively yet as decorously as she could.

"Well, erm, that is to say..." Anthony spluttered red in his embarrassment.

"We haven't" said Edith flatly.

For the first time since either of them had known her, Anna looked properly shocked.

"You haven't?!"

"No."

"Ever?"

"Not even when we were engaged previously" stated Edith, her face blank.

Anna paused. "Would you like to say any more about that?"

"We weren't...aren't married" answered Anthony, though his eyes betrayed him. This was not the whole story.

"Sir Anthony, we are in the twenty-first century. Couples who sleep together before marriage are the norm. There's no shame in it. It's abstinence that is almost unheard of. Are there any physical problems...er, down there that Lady Edith should be aware of?"

"NO, I mean, it's just that...well, as far as I'm aware…but there hasn't been..." Anthony was digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole.

"If there's something wrong, Anthony, just tell me!" It came out more annoyed than Edith had intended, but it had the desired effect: it made Anthony talk.

"I'm _old_, Edith! Every image of the male body you see in the media, on adverts, or just walking around in the summer for God's sake, is toned and fit and _young_! I couldn't bear it if we'd slept together and you compared me to your Cambridge boyfriends and...and...and found me lacking. And now...I'm a cripple with a hideously scarred and deformed shoulder. I couldn't face seeing the disgust in your eyes."

"Did you think you would be able to avoid sex altogether after you were married? Or were you content for Edith to be disappointed or unfulfilled, so long as you'd got her?" Anna played Devil's advocate.

"I didn't know what I was going to do!" Anthony forced out through the tears that he couldn't now control.

"Anthony, I know how old you are. I'm not expecting you to have the body of a 21-year-old. And it isn't firm pecs and a six-pack that turns me on. It's you. It's your eyes and the way you look at me. It's your smile, and your sense of humour, and your unfailingly polite manners, and a thousand other wonderful things." Edith put her hand on his, and although he took it in his good one, he couldn't bring himself to look up at her. He shook his head a little.

"You deserve better. You should have all those things and youth and the expectation of a long marriage too."

"We don't live in a perfect world, Anthony. No one is perfect. If what you've told me is the worst I have to put up with, then I will be a very lucky woman indeed."

He still wasn't convinced, but doubt and hope had crossed his face.

"Think about what sort of marriage you both want. Talk to each other. Because all marriages take work, and I think yours will be a great success...if you let it" concluded Anna.

...

That evening, Edith insisted on watching Anthony undressing for bed.

"Does it have to be tonight, Edith? We've both had a trying day."

"I am going to stay here and see my fiancé naked before he has a chance to find some excuse to wriggle out of it, and that's all there is to it."

He sighed, but knew she was right. As he undid the buttons of his shirt, she could see his trepidation increasing. She tried to reassure him.

"Anthony, it will be fine. I love you."

"After you've actually seen it you may not though."

"Don't be a silly goose. Of course I'll still love you."

Realising he had to go through with it, he slipped the shirt over his arms, and then pulled his undershirt over his head. His dead arm flopped uselessly down to his side, his back as straight and his head held as high as when he was on parade. His eyes, however, were closed as though he expected her to deliver the _coup de grâce_ at any moment.

Edith's face crumpled in pain. His right shoulder was deformed and miscoloured, it was true. There were places where there should have been bone, but it had been so damaged it had to be removed. His left arm was muscular, taut with tension, and firmer than the right which, in comparison, looked older, weaker. Scars from both bullets and surgeons' blades crosshatched the skin. God alone knew how much physical and mental pain he had been through.

She reached up, her hand whispering across his shoulder reverently, causing him to flinch. He turned his head away. But her fingers didn't stop at the shoulder. They continued to his chest worshipfully tracing the muscles' contours. When he opened his eyes in confused astonishment at the movement but didn't stop her, she indulged in massaging the broadness of him possessively, with eyes half closed with want. He found her touch amazingly erotic. Still, he could not believe that was her intention.

"Edith. Please. Don't pity me."

"I'm not. I'm afraid I'm just enjoying admiring you."

"Admiring?! I'm hideous!"

"No! What happened to you was hideous. But, you must understand, it isn't just the wound that I see. I know you went out there to serve; not for the money...you were a volunteer...and not for the glory. I see the courage of a man willing to risk everything in order to fight evil."

Quietly, breathlessly she continued.

"I don't just look at your shoulder either. Your chest is...quite distracting. I...I want to know what it feels like to have your bare chest pushed up against my naked breasts."

Anthony stared down at her. Although he had not been able to stop himself lusting after her ever since he'd found her kneeling before him in the desert expecting him to execute her, it had never occurred to him that she would ever feel the same way.

Partly to obey her request, partly to test her feelings, to see if she really meant what she said, he pulled her close to him roughly without warning. Confirming all his wildest hopes, her eyes showed surprise not shock, and after a moment they were filled with desire not disgust. He'd excited her and pleased her. The thought made him dizzy with possibilities.

Completely in a trance, and trying not to think in case thinking broke the spell, he pulled her even closer, leaned to her, and kissed her.

Edith knew from the start that this kiss was different. He was as gentle as ever, but there was an intimacy that was not present before. Anthony was giving but he was also taking...no, that wasn't right...he was _asking permission to take_ but with a new confidence and a command that turned her legs to jelly. His left hand found its way behind her head, while she held his shoulders, yes, both of them, to prevent herself collapsing and because she couldn't get enough of the feel of his tall, solid body.

With each moment Edith became more certain that she would not frighten him away if she truly expressed her need of him, and Anthony became more convinced that Edith really wanted him. He begged entrance by tasting her lips delicately, she admitted him eagerly causing him to move his arm to her back so he could lift her closer to him. She moaned her approval. The sound kicked him in the gut, while crackles of sensation electrified his body.

"Oh my dearest darling, my love! Dear god, how I love you! How much I want you!" he declared, still holding her close.

"My Anthony! My glorious, noble, _sexy_ Anthony!"

That pushed him over the edge, he lost touch with all reason. He claimed her mouth again with more force than he intended though with less than he would have liked. Their frantic kisses were interrupted only by their desperate efforts to undress each other. When they reached boxers, knickers, and T-shirts, he made her squeak with delight by lifting her one-armed and almost throwing her on the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows, panting as she watched him crawl menacingly slowly onto the coverlet towards her, a dark fire lighting his eyes.

Abruptly he slowed his pace by dancing fairy kisses up her leg from ankle to thigh. By which time Edith was feverish with lust for his touch.

"Please, Anthony. Please!"

"Are you really sure? I'm afraid I've been very remiss in planning ahead."

It took her a moment to figure out what he meant.

"Oh! Precautions, yes? I had an implant put in before Michael...well, anyway, it's okay."

"If you want me to stop, you need only say." He saw it in her eyes then: his gentlemanly caution was beginning to hurt her; it made her doubt the sincerity of his feelings. It was another major hurdle crossed when he recognised it, and wanted to reassure her, but also that he believed every word he uttered. He didn't just say it to please her.

"I will stop if you ask me to, even though it might very well kill me to do so. And perhaps we could try again another night? What I mean to say is, if you stop me it doesn't have to be forever. It doesn't have to be the end. Just that you're in control. I don't want you to go any faster than you want to, or to do anything you don't want to, anything you might regret."

"Oh god, Anthony, why do you have to be so bloody honourable?" she cried. He held her then with more affection than passion as she let her terror that he might bolt out through her tears. But when he was sure she was calm once more, he began kissing her neck tentatively.

"I do love you so much, Anthony. I always have."

It was said so quietly that he wasn't sure whether he'd heard it or imagined it.

"I love you too, my lovely Edith."

He kissed her lips chastely, letting her take the lead, which she did very soon cuddling him fiercely. He was just getting back into the swing of it, when she pulled back. Fear clutched his heart. Had she had second thoughts?

But his panic was doused when he saw what she was doing: reaching behind her to release her bra, and shyly baring her breasts to him.

Anthony stopped breathing for longer than was good for him. _God_ _help_ _me _he thought. He reached out with his good hand, then stopped himself. Looking up at her he asked "May I?"

"If you're going to ask permission for everything, we won't get very far tonight!"

"I'm sorry, Edith, but I have to ask at least once more before you drive me completely mad, otherwise I will accuse myself of assault afterwards. I _need _your permission." He looked at her with such entreaty in his eyes that she began to see it from his point of view.

"It's just that I'm not used to being so respected. Michael never asked, not before, not during, never."

Anthony stiffened slightly. "It has been demonstrated, I believe, that Mr Gregson was not a gentleman."

"But you are."

"I do my best."

"Then, yes, Anthony, I want you to make love to me. You have my permission to throw all caution to the winds and ravish me in whatever ways please you" she grinned at him, happy that she had fulfilled his request _and _made him blush. "I mean it. Is that plain enough for tonight?"

"Yes" he rasped "though I repeat, I will stop if you..."

He got no further because she had simultaneously kissed him and brought his hand up to her breast. Instead she was treated to an agonised moan as he gently but firmly pressed her down on her back on the bed, letting his lips worship her all down her neck to her rosebuds. Then she too was lost to him.

He truly made her his own then, kissing her back up her torso as he positioned himself to take her.

"My love, I am yours utterly, now and always."

At last, after so many years, they were one. She remembered every moment of deep happiness, every blissful touch, every whispered declaration, how strong he was, how reverent was his touch. As she neared her summit she vaguely registered that his rhythm had changed, realising that he was controlling himself to ensure she came first, and then she was flying through space, keening to him, and screaming her joy.

Her climax triggered his, he too yelling his love for her far louder than he meant.

With her arms around his head, she held him to her chest until she felt him relax into sleep, and she allowed herself to join him there.

* * *

...

The organ began to play and the church filled with the sound of a hundred people trying to stand up in the pews.

Anthony opened his eyes, private smile playing on his lips. He took his time standing and confidently taking his place looking ahead over the altar rail. _This is __**right **_he thought. _This is how it should be._ His butterflies were still in his stomach, but now they were ones of excitement not fear.

Edith and Robert had arrived at his side. His eyes widened when he saw her, an absolute vision in cream silk and satin.

"Good afternoon" she muttered, and he saw that she was a victim of nerves as well. He took her hand, kissed it adoringly, and smiled at her.

"Good afternoon, my sweet one."

Rev. Travis was slightly miffed that neither bride nor groom looked at him at any time during the service preferring instead to gaze into each other's eyes as they made their vows.

* * *

...

_**And they lived happily ever after.**_

_**Oh, my dear friends. The last couple of weeks have felt like my ship is sinking all over again. Of course, I'm happy if Edith is going to be happy with Bertie, who seems like a nice enough bloke and probably going to become the next Lord Hexham. Robert's comment about 'if she's happy, I'm happy' really made me angry. Bertie couldn't care less if he has Robert's blessing because he's a 'young chap with his life ahead of him'; but Anthony really needed it. Robert's changed his attitude but it's too late. We aren't told, but in canon all I can see is Anthony wasting away his lonely life at Locksley, and that's tragic. He really didn't deserve that.**_

_**So, I've still got Sir Paddington to finish, and I did have about five new stories being written up, but it feels more and more like I'm shouting into the wind. I don't want to be the embarrassing, mad uncle of FanFiction and Tumblr, always going on about Sir Anthony. That would be boring for everyone. If you want me to keep writing, please do tell me. Otherwise, perhaps it's about time that I get a life.**_


End file.
